The Making of Gabriel Davenport

by Beverley Lee

  The two men eyed each other, both of them with things to say, but unwilling to voice those words in case it tipped the uncertainty of the day into free-fall.

  Noah stood and rinsed his hands under the tap. He looked outside, his reflection showing a troubled man. It was a beautiful day with hardly a cloud in the sky. Would he feel better if it was cold and wet? It would match his mood, at least. Finally he spoke, knowing he had to confess. He was usually on the other side of the coin. A slight rush of heat rose in his face.

  ‘Gabe said he heard something, that’s why he went down into the cellar. That something was me. I was in the vault. I was going to take the box and hide it in a holy place. Then I heard a scream. It was Gabe. So I ran.’ He paused, aware he was contributing to the shattering of their close knit family unit. A small bloom of blood smeared across his palm from one of the glass fragments. It looked like stigmata. ‘I left the door open when I ran off to find Gabe. I’ve just been down there to close it. Edward...’ His voice dropped, ‘it’s gone. The box is gone.’

  Carver gripped the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Noah took one step towards him then stopped, but Carver lowered his head and closed his eyes. I know what’s in his mind, thought Noah. He’s wondering how it could be gone. Why did I go down there without him? Who would take it? And he’s just as scared as I am.

  ‘Carver?’ Noah’s voice sounded far away even to his own ears.

  ‘As far as I could tell, no one knew about what was in the vault. I kept it that way because I thought it would be safer.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I take full responsibility. But when I heard Gabriel scream, I just ran.’

  Carver sighed and exhaled deeply. A weary sound. ‘We can rule out Gabe then. Plus, I don’t think he has any idea about the box. It wasn’t you or me. Ollie? No. I can read him like a book and he follows rules. He wouldn’t have gone in the vault without my permission. I think we can safely rule out Beth. And Ella. So that only leaves one other person.’ Carver sighed. ‘Your hand, Noah.’ He pointed to the swell of blood, watching as one fat droplet hovered, and fell to the floor.

  ‘Olivia.’ Noah met his gaze, then dropped his eyes to his injured hand. He pressed his thumb onto the cut.

  Carver turned and walked to the front door, surveying the gravelled expanse, dappled by shade from the hydrangea bushes. The bright pink mop heads of the flowers dazzled against the deep green foliage. Olivia’s car was still there.

  Noah joined him, nursing his hand, wrapped in a tea towel.

  The two men passed the snug door, looking in as one. Gabe stared ahead, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. He was talking rapidly. Ollie glanced up as they followed each other up the stairs. His brow furrowed.

  ‘I’m going to have to look in on Ella. Eat some humble pie,’ said Carver without turning round. ‘Remind me to engage my brain before—’ He never got to finish the sentence.

  The door to Ella’s bedroom burst open. Olivia ran out, nearly colliding with them both. Her eyes were wide with shock.

  ‘What?’ Carver gripped both of her arms above the elbow.

  ‘In there...’ she whispered.

  For a few seconds, both men were paralysed, the terrible possibilities of what might be beyond the door rife in their minds.

  It was Noah who moved first, steeling himself for what he might see and, for the second time that morning, praying for hope.

  Ella’s room was at the front of the house, directly above the parlour. Two double windows with wide striped curtains gave a view of the driveway and any visitors that might appear. Her bed, a large bedstead in dark wood with carved spindles, had belonged to her mother. The décor was simple and crisp, very Ella, white linen with a red toile eiderdown. A French country style couch, upholstered in red-and-cream checks, stood with its back towards the end of the bed. Noah recognised it as the one that had been in the parlour years ago. Ella must have rescued it—she didn’t like to waste a thing.

  The housekeeper looked like a small child lying in the huge bed. Her greying hair, normally pinned tight to her head in a serviceable fashion, fanned across the pillow. One arm dangled out of bed, the skin covering it as thin as parchment.

  Noah bent to gently take her hand in his. He pressed his fingers to the inside of her wrist. The faintest of flickers.

  ‘Get an ambulance. Now!’

  Carver hovered in the doorway, telling Olivia to go downstairs and stay with Ollie and Gabe. In almost the same breath, he was asking for the emergency services and answering questions in a clipped tone.

  Noah tucked Ella’s arm inside the covers and studied her face. Her brow was remarkably smooth for a woman of advancing years, but her lips were far too pale. He pressed his palm against her face. The skin was clammy.

  ‘What is it?’ Carver appeared at his shoulder, clutching his phone in a tight fist.

  It always amazed Noah that in an emergency, people always assumed that a man of the cloth was an expert in medical matters, too. He had once thought to write a paper on it, but had never quite found the time.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Noah looked up at the curator. ‘I wish we’d checked earlier.’

  ‘I do too. But under the circumstances...this can’t all be coincidence, Noah.’

  A sudden breeze gusted under the sash window, wafting the thin curtains, carrying the scent of roses and birdsong. Everything outside seemed in complete contrast to what was happening in the house.

  ‘You go downstairs and check on everyone. I’ll stay with her.’

  Noah didn’t object. He knew Carver wanted some time with her before the paramedics arrived. He left the room, glancing back from the hallway. Carver was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Ella’s hand, telling her to fight.

  Five minutes later, the sound of an ambulance siren split the air. Noah gave the paramedics brief details when they entered, as three sets of eyes watched in silence from the snug.

  It was only 8.30 a.m.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Beth Davenport listened as the heavy clump of boots sounded on the stairs. People didn’t wear things like that in this house. Ella would be cross.

  She stepped back from the door, raising one hand, as though the act of that alone would stop any intruders. She didn’t like strangers. But the steps went in the other direction.

  It was a beautiful morning. The strong light poured through her window, casting golden patches of sun on her floor. She stepped into one and twirled like a little girl pretending to be a ballerina, enjoying the warmth on her bare feet.

  She felt stronger and quite pleased with herself. During the night, she had woken to find a black and white wing feather on her pillow. Her fingers curled around it and she slept deeply. Now it lay tucked behind her ear, tickling her cheek.

  Her bird (she thought of it as hers) had brought her a pink rosebud. It was waiting for her as she slid out of bed, making a funny little warbling sound in its throat. The bud was heady with scent. It made her head spin a little bit, but it told her that was okay, it was bird magic.

  She was delighted to have something that belonged to her.

  The voices outside sounded serious. She listened as they rose and fell with words she didn’t understand. Her mouth twisted in a little grimace. She hoped they wouldn’t come for her.

  Even though the telling of time eluded her now, she could judge from the angle of the sun and the rumbling in her stomach that it was past breakfast time.

  The voices and the clumping were going downstairs now. She pressed her face against the door and listened. A sudden rap resounded through the wood and she jumped back with a startled gasp.

  ‘Beth? It’s Noah. Can I come in?’

  She opened the door a tiny bit and peered through. He stood outside holding a tray with a mug of tea and a plate of toast. He looked dishevelled, like a little boy after a day at school.

  She opened the door fully and he set the tray down on the round table by the window. His shoulders were hunched up and he wasn’t sm
iling. Nervously, she twirled a lock of white hair around her finger, wondering if she had done something wrong.

  ‘I brought your breakfast up, Beth, because things are a little..,’ he paused, ‘..hectic downstairs and I know how you don’t like to be rushed.’ She let out a little sigh. ‘I’ll come up a bit later and we can go for a walk in the garden. Would you like that?’

  She nodded, wanting him to leave. Her bird had darted under the bed when he knocked.

  Noah watched her from the corner of his eye. She could see him even though he was pretending to focus on gathering last night’s supper things from the nightstand. As he picked up her plate, a knife rolled off and clattered onto the floor. She held her breath as he bent to pick it up.

  ‘Are you okay, Beth?’ He stood and slid the knife onto the tray. ‘You seem a bit distracted.’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ she said, which wasn’t quite a lie.

  ‘Of course. I’ll leave you to your breakfast, then.’ He smiled as he passed her. It seemed to take him a long time to get to the door and go out. She fidgeted until it closed behind him, and then let out a sigh of relief.

  Her bird was already perched on the tableside chair with its head cocked to one side. She stroked its white chest and broke off a corner of toast.

  ‘I’m going to call you Secret,’ she whispered, letting it take the food from her fingers. The bird rubbed its beak along the side of her thumb in approval.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  11a.m. and only three hours since Olivia had discovered Ella, but it had been the longest morning in history.

  The paramedics had checked Gabriel over and given him a clean bill of health with the usual warnings—call the hospital if he felt dizzy or sick. They cleaned the graze at the side of his face, which managed to look even angrier after it was swabbed.

  Olivia was the first to greet Noah after he came downstairs from delivering Beth’s breakfast. Carver had gone in the ambulance with Ella and told them he would get a taxi back. Olivia hit Noah with multiple questions in quick fire succession, raking her hair away from her face. She hadn’t taken kindly to being told what to do.

  Noah had placated them all the best he could, assuring Gabe that Beth was fine, even though she had seemed to be acting a little strangely, which he kept to himself. He put it down to the atmosphere in the house. The mood was subdued. He made breakfast but no one was hungry. He cleared the kitchen because it was something he could do. They were all waiting for Carver’s call from the hospital. When it did come, it was Noah’s phone that rang. He was suddenly scrutinised from all angles.

  He listened, holding up his hand to stem any interruptions. The call only lasted a minute. Carver was in the taxi on his way back and the signal wavered as he neared the valley.

  ‘Well?’ Olivia spoke first, sliding down from the stool by the breakfast bar. Gabe sat by Ollie. He was doodling absentmindedly on a piece of paper, but he lifted his eyes and Noah recognised the emotion. Fear.

  ‘It’s a heart attack, but she’s stable.’

  ‘Jeez,’ Ollie gasped. ‘I thought Ella would go on forever. I can’t remember her ever having a day off sick.’ And it was true; Ella was made of ‘fine stock’, as she would have said. She rarely even had a cold.

  ‘What happens now?’ asked Olivia. She was, as always, right to the point.

  ‘Tests. Lots of them. And depending on what they find, they might have to transfer her to the city hospital. Her sister is on her way. But Ella is in good hands so don’t worry.’

  Five minutes later, the front door opened. Carver came through, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

  ‘She’s sedated. There’s nothing more I can do right now.’ He glanced at Noah. ‘I needed to be home. Olivia, can you come to my office in half an hour?’

  She looked up and studied him. Ollie sat up straight, his shoulders tense, anticipating more fireworks. Olivia pulled her hair over one shoulder and nodded before striding from the kitchen, passing Carver so close their sleeves touched. Noah half expected to see sparks flying.

  Carver turned on his heel without saying a word. The sound of floorboards creaking and the slight slamming of a door upstairs told them he had gone to his room. Gabe looked up at the ceiling as though he could see right through it. ‘Is this where they each hold battle plans with their generals?’

  No one found any humour in his words.

  ‘I suggest we all retire and clean up,’ said Noah quietly, ‘and try and make the rest of the day as normal as we can.’

  ***

  Gabriel swiped his hand across the misted bathroom mirror and ran his fingers over the scratches on his face. The pressure from the shower spray had stung and he’d had a moment of panic as flashes of the bird in the cellar had come flooding back. He pushed his wet hair away from his face to get a better look. He saw it then, the same face shape as Beth. He shook his head and let some fall back over his brow.

  His room had always been a place of solitude, somewhere he could retreat to if the house got crazy or if he simply needed some thinking time. But he missed his old attic room with the slope of the ceiling over his bed and the old, draughty window, which gave him a bird’s eye view of the back garden. It was small, but it was home. Maybe later he could start moving his stuff back up there. The thought gave him the first glimmer of joy he’d felt all day.

  His phone told him more than an hour had elapsed since he had left the others; Noah had fussed that he really shouldn’t be by himself, even though he had suggested it. Gabe had replied, stating he didn’t need an escort, particularly in the shower.

  Pulling on clean clothes should have made him more mentally prepared for the rest of the day, but it didn’t. He had been right when he told Ollie something had changed in the house. Events had proved that. A niggling doubt crept into his mind that Ella’s heart attack wasn’t a coincidence.

  Along the corridor, a door opened quickly and then slammed shut. The noise made the glass in his mirror tremble.

  ‘I told you I didn’t take anything from the vault! How could I? I don’t even know the fucking code!’ Olivia’s voice was filled with indignant fury. ‘If you don’t trust me, then fine—I’m gone.’

  Gabe wondered whether he ought to open the door then decided he was safer inside. His brow knitted in concentration. What was all this about the vault? There had been someone down there, he had heard them, so was Olivia lying?

  There were so many questions careering around his head. He placed his hands over his face and screwed up his eyes, hoping the dark would give him some clarity. But it didn’t.

  ‘Olivia!’ Carver’s voice now, outside his door. She must have gone downstairs. ‘I had to ask. I’m asking everyone. Don’t take it so God damn personally.’ His voice shook with barely suppressed anger. Gabe couldn’t remember a time when the curator had lost control—apart from the incident when Gabe was nine and had decided to try driving Carver’s beloved MG along the drive, and had crashed it into the brick pillar at the side of the gate. But that was only a momentary spark. Noah had said it was more about Gabe’s safety than anything else.

  Gabe opened the door and looked out. Carver stood at the head of the stairs. He had changed into a pale grey linen suit and a white shirt, his hair still damp from the shower but all in place. His appearance said control.

  ‘You didn’t ask me.’ Gabe hadn’t even known he was going to say that. It just blurted out.

  The older man’s eyes wheeled around and for an instant, Gabe was caught in his furious, pale blue stare. Then they softened.

  ‘About the time this occurred, you were flat on your back in the dirt, so I can rule you out.’

  The front door slammed shut.

  ‘And Gabriel,’ said Carver, ‘your penchant for listening to other people’s conversations is going to come back and bite you one day.’

  The sound of an engine being brutally gunned to life and car tyres spinning on gravel.

  Carver sighed. ‘I was hoping she wouldn’t do that.’


  ‘She’ll come back. You know what she’s like.’ Gabe wanted to add that he was sure Olivia was telling the truth, but he couldn’t.

  ‘I wish I had your faith. This time, I’m not so sure she even wants to come back. Or maybe only to pack her bags. Damn.’ Carver clasped his hand around the balcony handrail.

  He’s trying to hold onto something, Gabe thought.

  For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Gabe’s eyes trailed to the high window overlooking the landing. The sky was no longer bright blue, but an odd shade of grey. A single, small patch of blue still hung there, like God had opened one eye to spy on them.

  ‘A storm’s coming,’ he said. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

  ‘In more ways than one, Gabe. In more ways than one.’

  Gabe watched as Carver went downstairs. Had he started all of this off with his need to poke around in the past? Only a few days ago, he had wanted to be seen as more adult and to be in charge of his own destiny. Now he would give anything to turn the clock back.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The afternoon passed in a slow grind. After a spell in the garden, the stifling heat drove them indoors to what was known as The White Room. It was a strange name considering most of the furnishings were grey or cream, but the overall appearance was bright and uplifting. Carver was trying to keep them all buoyant. The room faced south with a broad view of the lawn, which led down to the fountain. Floor to ceiling windows on two sides added to its brightness. A large, low table commandeered the centre of the room, surrounded by a dove grey sofa and two cream armchairs opposite. An imposing white marble fireplace with a club fender, upholstered in grey velvet, graced the back wall.

  Ollie was the quietest, having heard his sister’s outburst from downstairs. He’d been emptying the dishwasher whilst Noah was checking the jam cellar for any signs of forced entry. Olivia had left without saying a word to him which cut deep, and the knowledge someone had taken something from the vault made him feel guilty, because he had been planning to take Gabe in there only last night. Noah had asked him if he had any idea about what had happened, just after Olivia had slammed the door so hard it had rocked on its hinges.