by A B Morgan
Ella was sitting with other witnesses at a long table. At the head sat the coroner. ‘Miss Fitzwilliam, my name is William Harris, and, as the coroner for this county, it is my job to investigate this case of violent unnatural death and to come to a conclusion about the most likely cause. The criminal case has been heard, and in other circumstances I may have found it unnecessary to continue the inquest. I could’ve chosen to close this case in acceptance of the findings of the Crown Court. However, I believe it is in the public interest to gain an understanding of the victim’s true identity.’
Hushed whispers and puzzled looks made their way in a wave of excitement around the room. The public gallery sat to attention.
The inflection at the end of the coroner’s opening statement was not lost on Ella. Abigail Nithercott was dead, but who was she?
The coroner wanted answers.
‘Questions must be asked about how Abigail Nithercott had been able to marry her own blood relative without that fact being disclosed by the authorities or by her own family members. Indeed, Crown Court proceedings failed to address this issue and one can only presume that Mr Guy Nithercott was able to exert a certain monetary influence to ensure these matters remained out of the public domain during the criminal case against him.’
Several people gasped.
Ella caught Konrad’s one sparkling eye and he gave a half-smile in return, before kissing Lorna gently on the cheek as she sat next to him captivated by the coroner’s opening.
‘This is where your testimony is so valuable, Miss Fitzwilliam. The coroner’s officer – Mrs Fielding – is most grateful for your extensive witness statement. It is a shame the police and prosecuting counsel chose not to believe you at the time of the Top Field Farm investigations. Thank you for being here.’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Being believed
County Coroner, Mr William Harris, bore an uncanny resemblance to Ella’s own grandfather, a kindly man who had long since passed away, but for whom Ella held exceptionally fond memories. He gazed upon her with benevolent eyes. In doing so her nervousness gently melted into the background, as did the crowds of people in the intimidating formality of the cavernous room. A hush descended.
‘The court has heard that it was you who identified Abigail and Guy Nithercott as having a consanguineous marriage. Subsequent forensic investigations have confirmed this.’
Ella gave the briefest of nods in confirmation.
‘Leaving that aside, you were the person who sat with Abigail Nithercott’s legal mother, Mrs Elizabeth Louise Renfrew, on the day of her death, while an ambulance made its way to the scene. You comforted her by listening to her dying confession, if you care to call it that. You’ve submitted a comprehensive written report accounting for that time, but I’ve a few questions to put to you to help clarify a number of specific points.’
Each time she appeared as a witness in the drawn-out case of Top Field Farm, Ella experienced the same exhausting nervous reaction. Her resilience was surprising, even to herself. As the coroner spoke, she tried to focus on his words and not let rising anxiety cloud her comprehension.
‘Did Mrs Renfrew confirm to you that Abigail Nithercott was solely responsible for wrapping her up in tight layers of knitted garments and blankets to the degree she could hardly draw breath?’
‘Yes. She did. Konrad and I… Mr Neale and I helped cut away the knitted layers, trying to help her. She was panicking because the fire alarms were going off and she thought either she was going to burn to death before help arrived, or that Abigail would be coming back to kill her.’
‘Your report says you took a great deal of time reassuring Mrs Renfrew and listening to her story. In order to understand why Abigail should want to kill her disabled mother, can you tell us what Mrs Renfrew disclosed to you about this. In your own words.’
Ella had no difficulty in recalling the events of that Saturday afternoon; she sometimes woke from strange dreams still hearing Betty’s rattling voice as she told her agonising tale.
❖
The smell in the cellar was quite overpowering. Betty had been incontinent, and with the additional odours of fear and damp walls, it was hard to miss. Konrad had run back outside and retrieved a serrated utility knife found in Barney’s Land Rover with the intention of using it to tear into the woollen cocoon crushing the wind from Betty Renfrew’s lungs.
‘There’s blood here,’ he said, aiming the rounded tip of the knife towards a patch of viscous gloop on Betty’s chest. ‘It’s alright,’ he remarked hastily, ‘there’s no puncture wound that I can see, but then again…’ He arched his neck and tilted his head towards where Katrina Chandler’s body lay. ‘It could’ve been a stab wound from the twin to that one.’
The knitting needle jutting from the side of Katrina’s head was not easy to detect at first glance and it took a few seconds for Ella to twig what it was. The knitting. The needles. Abigail.
The woman tied into the layers of woollen blankets was so hot and debilitated it has hard to know what to do other than to free her as best they could. Once she was more comfortable, Konrad wedged Betty’s broken wheelchair against the internal door to prevent Abigail from gaining access, then left to find out what was happening outside and to direct the emergency services.
The fire raged and many elongated minutes ticked by before anyone appeared to help with Betty. During that time, Ella endeavoured to sound calm and collected but could see how urgently the woman needed medical attention.
‘Why did Abigail do this to you?’ Ella asked.
Betty Renfrew glanced in anguish at her surroundings as if seeking a way of explaining herself. ‘She and Guy… Abigail…’ Betty gulped for air. ‘They were children together, playing together, they grew up like that. We didn’t know. They were so young…’
When Ella decided to confirm to Betty that the truth about Guy and Abigail had been revealed through diligent research and careless words spoken by her own husband, it somehow released Betty from the burden of carrying it to her grave. She slowly began to disclose the missing parts of the mystery.
‘But why didn’t any of you stop the marriage?’ Ella asked scrabbling to get to the truth before Betty was no longer able to speak. Ella sat beside her, kneeling on a woolly mound, holding a clammy hand.
‘Dominic, Guy’s father, never suspected a thing. Abigail was my daughter as far as he was concerned, mine and Oliver’s.’
Betty let out an ironic laugh, a short burst of precious air. ‘When they said they wanted to get married it was a disaster,’ she said, choking on the words. ‘It was such a dreadful shock. She was pregnant. Disgusting to imagine. They’d been so secretive, an illicit affair between the rich heir to a fortune and the housekeeper’s daughter. We never thought … I didn’t know what to do.’
Betty’s chest heaved with the effort of breathing. ‘Dominic gave his blessing. Beulah – Guy’s mother, Abigail’s real mother – pretended as if everything was perfectly normal and made us promise not to say a word to Dominic. Abigail was pregnant, the Nithercott name could survive another generation and …’
Ella pushed for a full and frank confession. ‘Abigail didn’t know she and Guy were related? You never told her?’
Betty blinked slowly but didn’t answer. Tendrils of dark smoke filtered in through the doorway and several precious seconds elapsed while Betty took time to find the most concise way of explaining through cracked lips. ‘All these years we thought they never knew, but they did. When medical tests were done to find the cause of Abigail’s miscarriages they found out. They never said a word, not until today. Today, Abigail told us.’
Betty gagged, grasping more firmly onto Ella’s hand and struggled on in a voice now barely audible above the alarm bells. ‘It was too late by then. They were married. Abigail had a breakdown and Guy probably panicked. He should’ve guessed who killed his parents.’ Betty stared about with wild eyes, a dry tongue darting across her lips.
‘It wasn’t Guy?’
Ella asked, so taken aback that she barely had enough air left in her own lungs to speak. ‘What do you mean? Guy didn’t kill them for the money like everyone thinks?’
She computed this for a minute and then added carefully measured words. ‘Abigail and Guy didn’t know they were related until after his parents had been killed, so … one of them killed his parents because they objected to the relationship and didn’t want them to marry. It had to be Abigail.’
‘No. It wasn’t Abigail. It wasn’t Guy,’ Betty asserted.
‘Then it was Oliver who killed them,’ Ella said, as she looked across the filthy floor to where Oliver Renfrew lay dislocated and disfigured.
Betty sobbed a little, but no tears formed in her desolate eyes. ‘He was devastated by his daughter’s deceit, but he would’ve done almost anything to protect Abigail and Beulah. He would never have killed either of them.’
Betty paused, seemingly gathering her thoughts. ‘Abigail was embarrassed by us. We hardly saw her after she left for university. Then she turns up with Guy and she’s pregnant with his child and he’d only just taken his second-year exams for heaven’s sake,’ she said bitterly. ‘It nearly finished my Olly. It destroyed him. He had an almighty blazing row with Beulah. But I know he didn’t kill her or Dominic.’
Ella began, uncharitably, to pray that the ambulance wouldn’t come. ‘How?’ was all she could ask, ‘how do you know?’
She rocked back a little and checked the open door to see if anyone was approaching. She could hear shouting from somewhere outside but there was no indication that an ambulance or fire engine had arrived on scene. How long would they take? Where was the nearest fire station, she wondered, before quickly turning her attention back to Betty who again managed to find the strength to speak.
‘Because I did.’
The words hung in the acrid air for several long seconds before Ella could say anything in response.
‘You did? But why? How?’
Ella willed Betty to keep going. She watched as her chest rose and fell, stroking her hand.
‘I heard the argument. They were in Beulah’s bedroom, somewhere Olly should never have been. I was sick, you see. I wasn’t supposed to be at the hall. I went to the doctors’ for something to help me sleep. Abigail’s announcement had been such a shock.’
Between each sentence was a long hesitation as Betty dredged up the right words. ‘I went back to work to keep my mind occupied. I heard them screaming at each other. My Olly and Beulah.’
Tears began to stream down Betty’s cheeks, and she faltered. ‘I was going to intervene, but …’
Ella held back. She knew to interrupt would risk losing the momentum of confession. Betty closed her eyes briefly and said, ‘what they were saying was unforgivable.’ She squeezed both eyes tight. ‘Abigail wasn’t a gift; she was an accident.’
There was a lengthy lull between that statement and the explanation that went with it. During those long seconds Ella could do nothing, despite a big question forming on her lips. She waited. The answer was worth waiting for.
‘Before they married, Beulah and Dominic went through a stormy patch and broke up. She and Olly had a fling behind my back.’
Betty’s head dropped to her chin and she sobbed. ‘Beulah didn’t act out of kindness in carrying Abigail for me, it was desperation. Dominic was back on the scene and she didn’t want to lose the chance of all that wealth. She played him along, hiding the last months of pregnancy under winter woollies and a fictitious trip to the Scilly Isles. Olly couldn’t face telling me the truth about having an affair with my beautiful cousin, so they concocted the whole surrogacy idea between them. I thought Abigail was premature.’
Seeing Betty tiring fast, fading in and out, Ella tried to fill in the gaps. ‘So, you waited until after the engagement party and shot Beulah and Dominic while they slept, pretending to be a burglar. You used one of Dominic’s shotguns, you ransacked the place and you even killed the butler.’
Betty nodded. ‘I planned it very carefully,’ she rasped. ‘Cold revenge … and I wanted people to think Olly did it, but he messed everything up.’
Ella wracked her brains trying to work out what had happened. ‘Your back, Betty. What went wrong?’
‘I did it all. I wore Olly’s gloves, his welly-boots, and his coat. Simnel heard me so I shot him. I had to. It was raining. I threw everything in the carp pond. Then I went home and tied my feet and hands. The tie wraps, they were so tight. I remember thinking I could lose my hands if the circulation stopped.’ Betty’s face contorted with the pain of her physical deterioration.
‘Oh, I see,’ Ella gasped. ‘You tied yourself up.’
‘Yes. Olly was in panto, in Northampton. Cinderella. The last night. They have a party. I thought Olly was coming home afterwards. He never used to drink much. He didn’t say he was staying over. We weren’t really talking much. Lots of fights about Abigail and what we should do.’
She tipped her head forward with great effort to look at her husband’s body. ‘I thought he was a good man. How wrong I was.’ Her head flopped back. ‘But I made sure he paid for the rest of his life. I was stupid and tied myself up in the hallway… waited hours for him. Needed the bathroom. Nearly made it to the top of the stairs before I fell.’
Betty spoke again, but not to Ella this time. She raised her eyes as if she were making her peace with God and pleading for understanding. ‘I still can’t accept that’s what he and Beulah did, and yet Abigail was the baby I was desperate for. I loved her. I gave her whatever she wanted, and she took it and threw it back in my face.’ Betty seemed to shrink within her blanketed corner.
Swept along in the story, Ella needed to know more. She waited with Betty, never leaving her side even in the ambulance, catching snippets as Betty divulged more.
‘Olly was late home. He overslept, had a hangover. He found me at the bottom of the stairs where I’d been all night.’
The finer details of the next few months and years could only be guessed at by Ella, but from the mumbled recollections shared during the ensuing ambulance ride, it seemed that Betty and Oliver resigned themselves to living with the torture of remorse and fear, both for different reasons. Rich in monetary terms after Betty’s compensation came through, but with no riches as far as their daughter was concerned. She was lost to them as soon as she and Guy married, and in turn Abigail lost her own baby and two others after that. She kept her parents at arms-length while she and Guy sought help with her deteriorating mental health, and they hid from prying eyes.
‘Mrs Renfrew? Betty?’ Ella called, rousing Betty once more who rolled her head to look at Ella. ‘What happened today?’
‘She killed Olly. Pushed him down the cellar. It made her cross. He fell badly. Wanted him to hear what she had to say. Screamed at me.’ Ella could tell that Betty Renfrew wasn’t capable of doing justice to the story. The poor woman threw out the facts in short bursts as her energy dwindled.
‘But what did she say?’
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ella began to wonder if she was turning into Konrad Neale. She was ruthless in her quest for answers in spite of knowing that Betty was dying, or perhaps because of it.
‘Like a lunatic she was. Said she knew about her real mother. Blamed Isla. She said Isla knew the truth and had to die. Something about MacDonald and a fish farm. Said she’d found a true love and that he would save her. Nothing made sense.’
‘Are you in much pain, Mrs Renfrew?’ Ella asked, a wave of guilt suddenly washing over her.
‘I don’t really know.’
The ambulance slowed as they entered the hospital grounds. Without regard for privacy or Betty’s grip on life, there was one last mystery Ella was determined to prise free. ‘Why did they remain married for all these years? To keep the secret safe? To keep the money for themselves?’
Betty produced a thin smile before answering. She seemed to rally briefly, spurred on by the opportunity to spill the last secret and relieve herself of bi
tter burden.
‘Yes, all of that, and to protect the Nithercott name. Dominic was the last Nithercott, you see. He told Guy to make sure the name and the fortune were passed on. Guy failed and Dominic failed.’ Betty took in a huge breath. ‘You can tell the world. Guy is not a Nithercott. Never has been. He’s Olly’s son. He and Beulah hoodwinked us all. They carried on their sordid affair for years. But Abigail ruined their plans by bedding her own brother for his money. She’s just like her mother.’ The smile on Betty’s face widened for the last time.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Say it
Mr William Harris, the coroner, read from Ella’s written report. ‘Mrs Elizabeth Renfrew alluded to the fact that Guy Nithercott sheltered his wife Abigail from over-inquisitive public eyes for the past seventeen years. And in Elizabeth Renfrew’s words to you on the day she died, she “became mad because of it”.’ He caught Ella in his direct and willing gaze. ‘Are those words correct as far as you are able to recollect them?’
Ella managed a weak, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You say here, that the last words Mrs Elizabeth Renfrew spoke to you, were roughly as follows.’ He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and cleared his throat.
‘“When Konrad Neale came snooping, people started dying”. To which she added – “Be careful what secrets you keep, for if you sin against the Lord be sure your sins will find you out”.’
Mr Harris paused for a second, staring at the words on the page. ‘A quote from the bible: Numbers, thirty-two, verse twenty-three. Very apt.’
In addition to the more straightforward short verdict of death by unlawful killing, later that afternoon Mr William Harris, gave a narrative verdict. He condemned the NHS Trust for employing an unqualified consultant psychiatrist; one who had failed to recognise the risk Abigail Nithercott posed to the public. He also lamented the terrible events that had taken place one afternoon in June two years previously.
