Angel with Two Faces

by Nicola Upson

  ‘Just like old times,’ Morwenna said, as if reading his thoughts, but her attempt at lightness was not very convincing. ‘I seem to make a habit of running to you whenever there’s trouble, but I really didn’t know who else I could talk to at the moment.’

  ‘Twice in eight years is hardly a habit.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ She sat down on an old tree trunk and invited him to do the same. ‘I thought I could carry this on my own, but it’s been eating away at me since Harry died. Somehow it’s easier to talk to you because you’re not here all the time – and I know I can trust you not to pass judgement.’ Archie wondered again about the sin that Morwenna had thrown back at Nathaniel, but he said nothing and let her continue. ‘You see, I don’t think his death was an accident,’ she said quietly.

  It was the last thing that Archie had expected to hear. ‘Are you saying that someone killed him?’ he asked, careful to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

  ‘What?’ Morwenna looked horrified. ‘No – God, no, nothing like that.’ She gave him a look that seemed to doubt, after all, the wisdom of confiding in a policeman, then explained what she had meant. ‘I think he took his own life – it’s the only thing that makes any sense.’

  This time, Archie thought before speaking. The idea that Harry Pinching would kill himself seemed to him so unlikely that he had not even considered it as a possibility, and he chided himself for betraying years of training by subconsciously subscribing to the idea that there was a suicide ‘type’. ‘What makes you think he’d do that?’ he asked. ‘Harry always struck me as remarkably positive about life, even after your parents died.’

  ‘Yes, he was strong then and I don’t know how Loveday or I would have got through that without him, and it’s not that anything’s changed – it’s more the way he died. He was far too good a rider to drown like that. Even if he couldn’t keep Shilling out of the water, he’d have known that his best chance of survival was to hang on and get them both to the other bank. He loved that horse and they trusted each other – I’ve never seen such a bond between a man and an animal. There’s no way he’d simply let go.’

  ‘Perhaps not, if he could help it – but the Loe’s a law unto itself. You don’t need me to tell you how dangerous it is. We’ve both been here long enough to know that the stories about it live on for a reason – I can think of at least five people who’ve died in the lake or off the Bar in the last thirty years.’

  Morwenna looked at him defiantly for a moment. ‘Tell me honestly, Archie – what was your instant reaction when you heard about the accident?’

  He couldn’t deny his surprise at the news of Harry’s death – surprise and, if he thought about it carefully, a touch of disbelief which he had put down to his natural tendency to over-analyse. But suicide? There was the sorry state of the cottage, of course: he had assumed that it was Morwenna who was at her wits’ end but perhaps that was simply grief and worry – perhaps it was her brother who had given up on life? Somehow, though, it still didn’t seem to fit with the Harry he had known. ‘I admit I was surprised,’ he said, ‘but it’s a big leap from that to suicide.’ He looked back towards the house, and noticed that Jago Snipe and Morveth Wearne had come out on to the lawn and were looking over to where he sat with Morwenna. ‘You and Loveday meant the world to Harry,’ he continued. ‘Look at how hard he worked when your parents died, how readily he accepted responsibility for the family and the future.’ How he had grown up at last was what Archie really wanted to say, but there was no point in antagonising Morwenna by criticising her brother in any way. ‘Do you really think he’d have left you to manage like this if he had any choice in the matter?’

  The pain in Morwenna’s eyes told Archie how many hours she had lain awake trying to answer that question for herself. ‘I don’t know any more,’ she said. ‘I hope not, but I’m too tired to be sure of anything at the moment.’

  ‘Have you talked to anyone else about this?’

  ‘No, although I think Morveth suspects. She sees right through me – always has. I nearly told Nathaniel just now – I was so angry after that pathetic speech he made that I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself if you hadn’t turned up when you did.’ Judging by the look of horror on Nathaniel’s face, Archie thought, the curate had already guessed what Morwenna was about to spell out to him, but he decided to keep that suspicion to himself for now. ‘I can’t tell anyone else because I don’t want people to think badly of Harry,’ she explained. ‘I can be as angry as I like with him – he’s my brother – but I can’t bear the thought of everyone else talking about him and judging him, or saying something that Loveday will overhear. There’s such a stigma to suicide.’

  ‘Surely not these days. People are more sympathetic now – they do at least try to understand, even if the law takes a dim view.’

  ‘Do they?’ She looked at him wryly. ‘Have you forgotten how your uncle Jasper refused to give Arthur Pascoe the full service because he died while he was drunk? If the Reverend Motley got the slightest whiff of suicide, we’d have been burying Harry at a crossroads halfway between here and Helston.’

  ‘Surely Nathaniel’s different, though?’

  ‘In some ways, perhaps, but even he doesn’t understand the despair that people feel sometimes – people who have no faith, I mean. How could he? I don’t think he’s had a moment of doubt in his entire life.’

  That might have been true until recently, Archie thought, but just now Nathaniel looked as though his whole world had been shaken. More convinced than ever that Morwenna was holding something back, he tried again. ‘Did Nathaniel say or do something to make Harry take his own life?’ Just for a moment, he thought he saw fear flicker across her face, and she seemed to wrestle with her conscience, trying to decide whether or not to say more.

  ‘Loveday’s looking for you, Morwenna. She shouldn’t be left on her own for long – not today.’

  Morveth had come up to them so softly that neither Archie nor Morwenna had seen her arrive. How much had she heard, he wondered? In any case, the moment for confidences was lost, and they stood up. Morwenna smiled apologetically at him, but seemed relieved to go in search of her sister, and he was left alone with Morveth.

  ‘We don’t see you down here often enough, Archie,’ she said warmly, reaching up to give him a hug.

  Archie smiled, genuinely pleased to see her, even if he would have chosen a different moment. He had known Morveth all his life, first as his parents’ closest friend and then as the person to whom he had turned in his own moments of crisis. She was one of the few people who played a full part in the life of the Loe estate – bringing in its babies, teaching its children, laying out its dead – yet who managed to keep her distance from it, living alone in a small, thatched cottage on the outskirts of the village. When Archie had come home to Cornwall after the war, still grieving for the loss of his closest friend and believing Jack’s death to be entirely his fault, he had gone to that cottage to heal. The feeling of peace which he found in those afternoon visits was hard to describe and, for someone who had trained in science and whose career relied on logic and analysis, hard to understand, but Morveth’s wisdom – her ability to make good, for want of a better phrase – was one of the very few things in life which he had never questioned.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m well,’ he said, marvelling at how little she had changed in all those years, ‘but I wish we hadn’t had to meet here like this.’

  Morveth watched Morwenna as she walked back towards the house. ‘You’ll have noticed quite a change in her, I expect?’ she said, and Archie nodded. ‘It was the waiting that nearly killed her. It nearly killed us all, to tell you the truth – watching the two of them by the water’s edge every day, pale as death themselves and praying he’d be found. Loveday thought it was some sort of game, I think – best that she didn’t understand, perhaps – but Morwenna had to be half dragged away each night. First thing the next morning, though, she’d
be back. She couldn’t rest until they’d got his body. The lake played a cruel trick in keeping him for so long.’

  Not for the first time, Archie thought about the darkness that was masked by the beauty of Cornwall. He busied himself with violence on a daily basis in London, but the close proximity to death in which people lived their lives here still had a way of unsettling him. ‘Why do you think Harry let go of the reins, Morveth?’ he asked.

  She looked at him for a long time before speaking. ‘Don’t search for things that aren’t there, Archie,’ she said at last. ‘It will only bring unhappiness.’

  Archie had searched often enough to acknowledge privately how right she was, but he was reluctant to let the subject drop so easily. ‘Unhappiness for whom?’ he asked urgently, aware that Jago Snipe was on his way over to join them.

  ‘For people you care about,’ she said, then added more quietly, ‘perhaps even for you.’

  There was no time to press her any further. He nodded at the undertaker, whose greeting – or so Archie fancied – was uncharacteristically suspicious, and they talked for a few minutes about the weather before Christopher Snipe excused them both from the effort of finding something else to say.

  ‘Dad, I need to talk to you,’ he said, and his earnestness made him look even younger than he was.

  ‘Not now, Christopher – I’m talking to Mr Penrose.’

  Archie was surprised at the response. His conversation with the undertaker was hardly too important to be interrupted, and he knew how close father and son were; their relationship had been Jago’s only solace after his wife died in childbirth.

  The boy seemed reluctant to be dismissed so easily. ‘But it’s urgent,’ he said.

  ‘Even so, this isn’t the time or the place,’ Jago snapped. ‘You’ve already done enough for one day.’

  The boy blushed and walked away. Feeling sorry for him, Archie said: ‘Loveday must be glad to have Christopher around at a time like this.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ the undertaker asked sharply.

  ‘Nothing, really, except I noticed that he was kind to her at the funeral. With everything that’s happened, having a friend near her own age must help.’

  ‘They’re not friends, particularly, and being kind is what we do. If Christopher spent any time with her today, he was just doing his job.’

  Archie apologised without really understanding what he had said to cause such offence. Feeling more like an outsider than ever, he excused himself to go and find Lettice and her father.

  Jago and Morveth watched him walk back up the lawn. ‘Did she tell him anything, do you think?’ Jago asked.

  ‘I don’t know. He asked about the accident, but then he would, wouldn’t he? That’s only natural. I’ll find out what he knows, though. Leave it to me.’

  ‘Don’t get sucked in, Morveth,’ Jago warned. ‘I know you were close to the family and Penrose is a good man, but he’s not one of us any more. If it comes to loyalties, I know which side he’ll be on. Just be careful.’

  ‘One of us?’ The scorn in Morveth’s voice was out of character and took Jago by surprise. ‘Don’t be so naive. Harry was one of us, and look how he behaved. He went too far, but if we’d thought more carefully about what we were doing, he’d still be alive and none of this would have happened.’

  ‘It has, though,’ Jago said, regaining his composure and, with it, his authority. ‘Now we just need to make sure that we keep it to ourselves.’

  Christopher hung around outside the cottage, trying to find the courage to talk to his father again and waiting for a moment when he might get him on his own. It was vital that he got to speak to him soon, before some do-gooder like Shoebridge found out what was going on and tried to interfere. It had to be Christopher who broke the news. He had sat by the church for a long time after the funeral, wondering what words he should use and watching Loveday, who had slipped back to the graveside while everyone else drifted off to the wake. She was beautiful, even there. Her white-blonde hair fell forward over her face as she looked down into the grave, taking some of the flowers from the netting around the side and dropping them gently on to her brother’s coffin. Intent on her task, she hadn’t noticed him at first, but a smile lit her face when she glanced up and saw him and, in that second, he was overwhelmed with relief that Harry was dead and buried. He wouldn’t have stood a chance with Loveday otherwise; the undertaker’s son would never have been good enough for Harry Pinching’s little sister. He remembered the time he had seen Harry coming out of the Commercial Inn with a bunch of his friends; buoyed up by beer and bravado, he had taunted Christopher and told him to keep away from Loveday, saying that his hands were only fit to play with the dead. It had made him so angry, and he smiled to himself now to think that his tormentor was suddenly a lot less free with his mouth.

  Christopher had grown up in a house that lived with death and had never known anything else, so he found people like Harry – who covered their fear with mockery or superstition – difficult to understand. When he talked to girls in the village, he knew that they always had half a mind on what he did for a living; he might as well have worn his mourning suit all the time because it hovered around the edges of even the most inconsequential conversations. Loveday was different, though. She could see beyond the black. The first time they were together – properly together – she had sensed his hesitation and gently kissed his fingers one by one, letting him know that she didn’t mind, telling him without words that he should be proud of his work, that the dead deserved to be cared for as tenderly as the living.

  It was always assumed that he would help his father run the business when he was old enough, and he had been happy with that – happy, and a little nervous at first. There was a lot to learn, but he enjoyed the camaraderie of working alongside his father and the satisfaction of doing a job which really mattered. Only once had he been truly afraid, and that was early on, when he had just turned thirteen. It was winter, the evening before a funeral, and he and his father had gone to a farmhouse half a mile or so out of the village on the Penzance road to make the final preparations. They were given a warm welcome – Jago Snipe knew everyone and was well respected in the community – and the dead man’s widow, glad of the company, had insisted on making tea. As she busied herself with the kettle, his father handed him a screwdriver and nodded towards the door to the stairs. ‘You start to screw him down, lad,’ he whispered, ‘I’ll be up in a bit.’ Christopher took the screwdriver, desperate not to let his father down, and made his way upstairs, looking more confident than he felt. His courage deserted him at the third stair from the top and he sank down onto the step, staring straight ahead at the room where the coffin lay, wanting to go on but reluctant to leave behind the comforting sound of voices from the kitchen. He sat there for half an hour or more, until he could barely make out the door in the darkness, and all he could think of was the first dead body he had ever seen, carried easily over Jago’s strong shoulders, pale hands tapping the backs of his legs as he walked. When his father came up to look for him, he realised immediately that he had asked too much of his son and gave him an apologetic hug. They went in together to shut the light out on the corpse for the final time, but the incident made such a strong impression on Christopher that he could still remember every detail of that room – the Bible under the dead man’s chin, the spectacles and pipe placed carefully under the coffin lining, the clock stopped at five minutes past three.

  After that, his father was more careful about what he asked Christopher to do, ever mindful that he was still a young boy. Even now, he was not allowed to help with bodies which came in from the sea or after violent deaths – his father said there would be plenty of time for him to witness that sort of sadness when he was older, and always sent him on some sort of convenient errand when such a job was on. He was grateful for his father’s consideration, and knew how much he was loved, but today, thinking about what he had to do after the funeral, he was back on that third stai
r from the top – uncertain of what to say, scared of letting his father down, and wanting more than anything to run away. This time, he couldn’t count on reassurance and a hug – not when his father heard about Loveday, and certainly not if he ever found out that Harry Pinching’s death was Christopher’s fault.

  Chapter Four

  The sun sank lower over the trees, taking with it all the blue from the lake and transforming the surface of the water into a metallic palette of silvers and blacks. A heron took off from the tangled mass of shrubs on the opposite bank, its slate-grey plumage in perfect keeping with the rest of the landscape and, from her window at the Lodge, Josephine watched its languid progress across the water, enjoying the familiar, rhythmic beat of its wings until it reached the other side of the lake and disappeared into the impenetrable shadow of the trees. In the distance, a delicate curl of smoke from one of the farm cottages was the only indication of human activity. Except for the occasional drumming of a woodpecker from the trees at the back of the house, all was quiet and still.

  The estate lodge was a handsome building of pale-grey stone, dating back, Josephine guessed, to the mid-nineteenth century and conceived in Victorian Tudor style. There was a small, sheltered garden at the side – well stocked with foxgloves, rose bushes and gnarled old apple trees – and she found it hard to imagine a more idyllic location. She had yet to see the main house, of course, but it seemed to her that in exchanging the worries of the estate for this peaceful retreat, the Penrose family had got the more desirable end of the bargain. She tried to imagine Archie here, but found it hard to separate him from their familiar London circles. The demands of Scotland Yard and the glamour of a West End first night were worlds apart, but he seemed equally at home in either and moved between them with an effortlessness which she admired, and occasionally envied; perhaps there was another, more rooted side to him which she was still to discover. He had always spoken lovingly of his parents, but never in much detail, although it may well have been her own tendency to compartmentalise areas of her life that discouraged Archie from sharing everything about himself. Certainly, looking around now at the images of a family home, stamped deeper with every generation, she realised how little she knew of his background, despite their long friendship.