by Taylor, Lulu
‘And here we are – Father Ronald, how are you?’ He’d stopped by an old man who had shrunk to a small curved shape, and was propped up in an armchair where he could look out over the garden rather than at the television. His skin was withered and liver-spotted, and there were only a few wisps of white hair on his shiny scalp. At the sound of the vicar’s voice, he looked up.
‘Eh?’ It came out croakily. Delilah felt vaguely disappointed. He didn’t look as though he had all his faculties after all.
‘How are you, Father?’ boomed the vicar, smiling broadly.
‘Oh! I’m very well. Enjoying this beautiful day, contemplating God’s creation. I don’t know why they want us to watch that television all day long when there’s all this right outside the window.’
‘Very true.’ The vicar sat down on the low windowsill directly in front of Father Ronald.
He’s gone and blocked his view! thought Delilah, wanting to giggle for a moment. Instead she bent and stroked Mungo’s silky head.
‘Now, Father, I’d like to introduce you to someone,’ continued the vicar, beckoning Delilah to come into the old man’s eyeline. ‘This is Mrs Stirling. She’s living up at the fort now. She’s married young John Stirling.’
The old man looked up at her, straining his faded blue eyes to get a full picture of her. He nodded. ‘Oh yes. How nice. How things do keep moving on, don’t they? When I first came here, it was the present lord’s parents who were at the big house. Now it’s you young things taking it all on.’ He smiled up at Delilah and she felt a rush of friendliness towards him. She sat down on the armchair next to him, pulling Mungo close and patting his rear to make him sit down.
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she said politely, her voice louder than usual in case of deafness. ‘The vicar tells me you remember everything that happened over the years.’
‘I don’t know about everything,’ said Father Ronald, half amused, ‘but I know what’s what. I’ve not lost my capacity yet, even if it’s not quite as sharp it used to be. It’s funny what comes back, isn’t it? I woke in the night recalling a poem in ancient Greek quite perfectly. I learnt it up at Oxford in the forties.’
‘Mrs Stirling has a particular question for you,’ prompted the vicar, giving Delilah an encouraging look. ‘Haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’ She coughed lightly, clearing her throat, uncertain where to begin. Less than a week ago, she would have been eager to start questioning but now she felt the danger of dabbling in things she had no right to know about. ‘I . . . I wondered what you remember of the death of Elaine Stirling.’
‘Ah!’ Father Ronald at once looked mournful and he shook his head, his mouth turned down almost to his chin. ‘I remember it very well and it was an awful thing, my dear young lady. A truly awful thing. I’ve never seen a woman more affected by grief than that poor mother at the graveside of her child. She had lost her daughter, but worse than that she had been at the wheel of the car that killed the girl.’
‘Was Lady Northmoor ever charged with dangerous driving?’ asked Delilah.
The old man shook his head. ‘There was talk of that. But she was in no state to face any charges, poor woman, and by the time they came to think of it, she was gone. And I think words were had, high up, you know. The family could exert pressure when they needed to.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve often thought of her. I knew her from a girl, you see. I baptised her children and earlier than that, I conducted her first marriage.’ Father Ronald leaned forward, his penetrating eye still on her. ‘I feared that would end badly, though I prayed for them both. There was something about that young man that made me think he wasn’t made for marriage. God had another purpose for him, but it wasn’t that. And Alexandra needed a man who loved her after what she’d been through.’
‘Been through?’ Delilah asked, frowning.
‘Her mother died when she was young. She committed suicide by jumping off the folly.’
A shiver of eerie astonishment flew over her skin despite the heat. ‘Alex’s mother killed herself like that?’
‘Oh yes. It was a great scandal but her father sheltered her from it as best he could. He kept her apart from everyone afterwards and I suspect the girl was told a different story to protect her. I always thought it was his motive in marrying her off so young – getting her away from the village and what happened here.’
Delilah was piecing things together, trying to take in the new information. ‘But everyone seemed to think that Alex was the one who jumped off the folly.’
The old man snorted contemptuously. ‘Stupid village rumours. Impossible to stop it. They said the family had covered it up in shame and given out that she’d died of grief somewhere.’ He gave a hollow laugh.‘People thought it made sense. Her mother had been driven mad too, and so they felt it was simply in the blood. It was history repeating itself.’
‘But you didn’t think so?’
‘I asked Lord Northmoor and he told me that his wife had gone away and would never come back. He asked me not to speak of it, and so I didn’t.’ He shook his head slowly, looking grave. ‘I understood in a way. If you’d seen her at the funeral, so would you. She had no real conception of where she was or what was happening, as though her mind couldn’t stand to know. She was the living embodiment of torment. If I hadn’t believed in demons then, I would have on that day. She was in hell. If those rumours meant she’d be left in peace, then so be it.’
Delilah felt her nose prickle and drew in a short, sharp breath. Her eyes stung. In hell. That was what hell was, she supposed. Being at the mercy of the unbearable. All we can do is hope and pray that we’re never asked to suffer in that way, she thought. And who knows what any of us can stand in the end?
‘But,’ Father Ronald said, leaning forward, ‘if you want to know more, you should talk to Emily Jessop, who was a maid at the Old Grange. She’s in the home here. I believe she’s still alert enough to remember. She’s often told me how she feels about what happened to poor Lady Northmoor. Tell her I sent you.’
Delilah looked over to the vicar, who’d been listening quietly. She felt churned up by all she’d discovered. In a few brief moments, she’d learned so much that was new about Alexandra. But perhaps the puzzle was still not yet complete. ‘Can we find Emily Jessop? I’d love to talk to her if I may.’
They found the old woman in a small room, part of a group listening to the radio over cups of tea and a plate of digestives.
‘Miss Jessop, might we borrow you for a moment?’ the vicar asked jovially, and was quickly shushed by the others. He went on in a quieter voice, ‘We want to see if you remember a few things about your old situation.’
‘Which one?’ asked Miss Jessop, a frown deepening the lines between her brows. She was tiny, a small frail figure almost lost in the depths of her armchair, but her thick white hair was pulled back into a surprisingly sturdy bun and her voice was still strong with a rich Dorset accent.
‘The Old Grange,’ the vicar said. ‘You worked for the old gentleman, didn’t you? You knew Alexandra Crewe before she married?’
‘Ah!’ The old woman sighed. ‘Yes, yes.’ She glanced about at the other people. ‘But I’d rather not say here.’
By the time they had Miss Jessop up on her walking frame and had found a place down the hall where they could sit in privacy, Delilah was growing increasingly eager to ask her questions but she had to wait until they were all settled.
‘Now, Miss Jessop, this lady is married to Alexandra’s boy, John,’ the vicar said.
Miss Jessop turned her bright eyes on Delilah. ‘Is she? That’s nice.’
‘She wondered what you remembered of the old days.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Jessop. Thank you for seeing us. Father Ronald said to say he sent me,’ Delilah said, hoping this would be enough to win the old lady’s confidence.
‘I’m glad someone wants to talk about Miss Alexandra!’ said Miss Jessop unexpectedly. ‘They only ever spread nasty gossip and lies. It
’s about time the truth was heard.’ The old lady’s voice was strong despite the cracked notes in it. ‘She was treated so badly by that wicked father of hers. It’s lain hard with my own conscience all these years that I didn’t speak up. I’ve always feared that I could have stopped it and that’s a hard thing to live with.’
‘Stopped what?’ Delilah asked quickly.
Miss Jessop fixed her with a defiant gaze. ‘Why, all of it.’ She shook her head. ‘She was tormented beyond endurance, just like her poor mother before her. It was no wonder she couldn’t live with it.’ The old woman leaned towards Delilah and said in a low voice, ‘But it was a wicked lie! And I knew it. Cook and me, we both knew it.’
Delilah tried to follow Miss Jessop’s train of thought. ‘You mean, the lie that she jumped off the folly?’
Miss Jessop tutted impatiently. ‘No – not that. I’m talking about the lie that caused the trouble. You see, I tended the old devil in his last illness. God knows, many a time I’ve wished I had taken up a pillow and put him out of the world before he caused any more mischief, but I didn’t. We’d already seen him destroy poor Mrs Crewe, his wife. I know some would think she did wrong to be with Lord North-moor and no doubt she did. They both did. They were promised to others and they broke their vows to be together. I don’t know about the old lord, but you could hardly blame her for looking for some kindness from somewhere. But when Mr Crewe found out, there was merry hell to pay – excuse me, Vicar – and he drove that poor woman to her death.’
‘Alexandra’s mother had an affair with Nicky’s father,’ said Delilah in a wondering tone, trying to absorb this new information and what it might mean. ‘And then she killed herself.’
The old woman nodded, her white bun bobbing on the back of her head. ‘That’s right.’
‘So . . . what was the wicked lie?’
Miss Jessop looked down to where her hands were twisted together in her lap. The knuckles were prominent and her fingers bent with arthritis. She seemed to be battling with herself, as if now the moment was here, she wasn’t sure she could tell what she knew after all.
‘Please, Miss Jessop,’ urged Delilah quietly. ‘It might help very much if you tell me what you know.’
‘It can’t cause more pain than has already been caused,’ the old woman returned crisply. ‘It’s something I promised myself I would do before I go. I want to tell you – but it’s not easy to remember. You see, the old man treated that girl terribly. Poor motherless thing! He visited the sins of the mother on her. After what had happened with Mrs Crewe, and the way she’d left this world, he could hardly bear the sight of their daughter. We all saw it and our hearts bled for her. And when she left that man he made her marry and ended up living at the big house with a title and everything the Stirlings could offer her, it made him sick to his stomach. It was like his wife had come back and triumphed after all. Like she’d won through the girl, you see. And he wasn’t having that. So then he did it.’
‘Did what?’ Delilah leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word. Here at last was the heart of things. ‘What did he do?’
Miss Jessop paused, then said slowly, ‘He told a terrible lie. Miss Alexandra came down to the house to see him when she heard he was dying. She wanted to make peace with the old monster, which was more than he deserved. And he took the opportunity to curse her with his dying breath.’
‘What did he say?’
The old woman’s voice sank to a whisper but it was almost clearer than her speaking voice. She took on an expression of deep gravity as though this was a message she had been waiting many years to pass on. ‘When she sent me out, I left the door ajar so I could listen. I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but everything in me told me that old wretch had something up his sleeve to make sure she suffered. I heard every word. He told her that she was not his child. He told her that she was the result of her mother’s affair with Lord Northmoor and that she was cursed like her mother.’
Delilah gasped. ‘Wait – he said that she was the child of Lord Northmoor? Nicky’s father?’ She closed her eyes at the implication, her insides clenching in shock. ‘You mean, he told her that she and Nicky were half-siblings – that she’d married her own half-brother!’
A sense of revelation washed over her. She was sure beyond doubt that this was the secret Alexandra wanted to die with her. What could it be but this?
Emily Jessop nodded. ‘That’s right. He sent her mad in his own way. He knew how to do it. He was cock-a-hoop when she left, delighted with himself for spoiling her life. That was the very day the little girl was killed.’
‘But that’s terrible!’ Delilah said, appalled. It made an awful sense that Alexandra, in a state of horror and shock, would be driving recklessly enough to cause the accident.
The vicar was shaking his head, his expression solemn. ‘It’s unbelievable.’
Delilah said urgently to Miss Jessop, ‘But you don’t think he was telling the truth?’
Emily sat up straighter, invigorated by her indignation. ‘Cook and me knew it wasn’t true! Cook had been there years and was privy to everything. She told me that Mrs Crewe started her love affair after Miss Alexandra was born. And it gave the poor woman a few years of happiness at least, and I don’t begrudge her that, Vicar, even if you do!’ The old woman fixed him with a beady stare.
The vicar said softly, ‘I understand human frailty, Miss Jessop, and so does God.’
‘How did that horrible man feel when he realised he’d caused the death of his granddaughter?’ asked Delilah, outraged at the events of the past. She felt real anger bubbling up inside.
‘He never knew. His illness took its course quickly and he died the next day before the news was out. And no one cared a jot that he’d gone, not in the face of the loss of the precious child.’
Delilah reached out and took the knobbly old hand with its papery skin. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘Thank you so much for telling us what you have. It’s made everything clear now. And I truly think it will help.’
‘It can’t bring her back, though, can it?’ said Miss Jessop and her eyes were suddenly red-rimmed and full of tears. ‘I’ve wished so hard I could have told her before the little girl was taken and before she felt the only way was to end it. They all said that was what she’d done and I cried for weeks when I found out. You can’t think how hard I wished I could have changed things!’
Delilah bent down to hug the frail body, suddenly moved. Her anger disappeared and she felt happiness and hope take its place. ‘I think you must have wished hard enough. I think you might be able to bring her back.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Madam, madam!’
The little piping voice came up from the narrow street below, floating into the kitchen like birdsong.
Alexandra left the worktop, where she was making a salad of ripe red tomatoes, long slices of wet cucumber and torn shreds of lettuce. A piece of damp salty feta cheese sat on a wooden board, waiting to be chopped into rough cubes and added to the bowl. She went out onto the terrace and looked over the white wall. Down below a small brown face surrounded by thick dark hair gazed back up at her.
‘Tina, hello,’ she answered in Greek. ‘How are you?’
‘I’ve brought bread,’ the girl said. She lifted a basket that she was carrying over one skinny arm. ‘Mama told me to come.’
‘Come on then.’ Alexandra beckoned her up. ‘Bring it here. You’re just in time.’
The girl scampered through the gate and up the stone steps to the terrace.
‘Thank you, Tina,’ Alexandra smiled at the girl. The local children always seemed enchanting. She’d watched a couple of generations now, growing from urchin-like children with sun-darkened skin, spidery arms and legs and tough sandy feet, to a kind of graceful adolescence that she was sure did not exist in England. The inhabitants of the island seemed to have a secret that made them scrambling adventurers one day, and ripened young women or strong young men the next. And in almost n
o time there would be another wedding and she would be astonished to learn that tonight they would be dancing for young Yannis who last week had been climbing her fig tree to get the fruit for her, and this week was the handsomest man in the village and marrying the beautiful Alida, only just transformed herself from a skinny thing playing hopping games in the road. So many of the young ones left now, heading to Athens for work or trying to move abroad where life would be better away from the terrible economic conditions. At least the island would always have a steady stream of tourists and pilgrims come to see the holy sites, and the beauty of the place meant that people with money would always want to live here. Sometimes she worried about her job as a tourist guide at the monastery, fearing that she was taking work from someone who needed it more, but as she refused a salary she hoped it was not so. She asked the monks to donate what they would have paid her to charity or any family in particular need that month.
Tina came into the kitchen, looking about curiously as everyone always did when they came to madam’s house. Alexandra wondered what they all said about her. No doubt there were rumours. They always called her madam, as though they had found out that she had once had a rank back home. Not that it mattered now, of course – or, indeed, had ever mattered.
Tina took out two loaves of bread and put them on the counter. ‘Here you are, madam.’
‘Thank you, Tina. Do you have something else for me?’
She giggled and said, ‘Of course.’ She produced a small cardboard box that held four pastries filled with a sticky concoction of honey and nuts.
