“Is that why you persuaded her to reassign the power of attorney?”
“I didn’t. She thought it up all on her own when Madeleine told her to hurry up and die, and do everyone a favour.”
“When was that?”
“August. She didn’t show again until Lily was taken into care…probably because she hoped neglect would do the job quicker.”
“But you don’t think the valve was closed until November,” I pointed out mildly.
“Madeleine didn’t have to see Lily to do that. She just had to go to the outhouse.”
“But she wouldn’t want the whole world knowing what she was up to. I mean, you’re effectively accusing her of wanting to murder her mother.”
“She’s quite capable of it.”
I doubted that but I didn’t say so. “Supposing Peter had been here…supposing you had been here? Supposing someone had seen her drive through the village?”
“It depends when it was. The Horse Artillery could ride through Winterborne Barton at midnight and none of that lot—” she jerked her head in the direction of the village—“would hear them. If they’re not deaf, they’re probably snoring their heads off.” She crossed her forearms on the table and hunched forward. “It’s the one time Madeleine could have got away with doing something like that. I’m the only person who ever came in here. Everyone else went into the drawing-room. Even Peter.”
I’d learnt from experience that it wasn’t worth repeating questions, because Jess never answered anything she didn’t want to. The only technique that seemed to work was to point out Lily’s failings, which usually provoked her into defending the woman. “It doesn’t explain why Lily didn’t do something about it herself. Peter says she was functioning adequately enough to go on living here alone, so why didn’t she look up a maintenance man in the Yellow Pages? A total stranger wasn’t going to have her committed.”
Jess stared at the table. “She was much worse than Peter realized. As long as she looked neat, and could open the door to him, and roll out a few amusing anecdotes without too much repetition, he thought she was coping. She was pretty good at the airs and graces stuff…forgot everything else…but not that.”
“Was it you who was making her neat?”
Her dark gaze rested on me for a moment. “I wasn’t going to do it forever but while she was still—” she made a small gesture of resignation. “She was frightened about going into a home…made me promise to keep her out as long as possible.”
“Difficult.”
“It wasn’t all bad. I learnt more about my family after Lily went senile than I ever knew before.” Her eyes lit up suddenly. “Do you know, she really envied them? I’d listened to this crap for years about how low-grade we were—straight out of the primeval sludge without a brain between us—then suddenly it’s not fair that trolls with congenital syphilis inherit the earth.”
I smiled. “So what did she say to make you angry?”
“Nothing.”
“She must have done. You wouldn’t have abandoned her otherwise. You’re too kind.”
For a moment, I thought she was going to come clean, but something changed her mind. Probably my mention of kindness. “She was taking up too much time, that’s all. I thought if I left her to cope on her own for a bit, Peter would realize how bad she was and organize proper care.” She gave a hollow laugh. “Fat chance. He relied on me to tell him if she went downhill…then vanished off to Canada for a month.”
I shrugged. “You can’t blame him for that. First you help Lily hide her condition, then you want to expose her. At the very least, you could have told Peter you’d stopped visiting. He’s not a mind-reader. How was he supposed to know Lily had lost her safety net? How was anyone supposed to know?”
An obstinate expression closed over her face. “You’re in the same position. Do you want me to send round a note if I decide to stop visiting you? Whose business is it except yours and mine?”
“I’m not ill. I can ask for help if I need it.”
“So could Lily. She wasn’t completely shot.”
“Then why didn’t she?”
“She did,” Jess said stubbornly. “She took herself to the village…and none of them did a damn thing about it.”
We’d been this route before. It’s where every conversation about Lily ended—with Winterbourne Barton’s perceived indifference. I sometimes felt it was Jess’s excuse. As long as she could accuse them, she didn’t have to address her own part in Lily’s rapid decline. Although in truth I couldn’t see that anyone was really to blame. There was no law that said Jess had to take the brunt of a demanding woman’s care indefinitely, and no law that said her doctor and neighbours should have foreseen their sudden falling out.
It was harder to excuse Madeleine because she was Lily’s daughter, but was she any better at guessing from London what was going on than the people on the ground? I was willing to accept Jess’s view of her character—grasping, vindictive, spiteful, selfish—but not that she had a supernatural intelligence. “How could Madeleine have known that she could turn the Aga off with impunity? Did she know that you and Lily had a row? Would Lily have told her?”
“We didn’t have a row. I just stopped coming.”
“OK. Would she have told her that?”
I saw from Jess’s sudden frown that she knew what I was driving at. She could hardly accuse Madeleine of attempted murder if Madeleine was as ignorant as everyone else. She didn’t dodge the question. “No,” she said flatly. “Madeleine would have wanted to know why.”
I went back to the question she wouldn’t answer. “So what did Lily say to you that made you angry? And was so awful that she couldn’t repeat it to her daughter?” I watched her lips thin to a narrow line. “Come on, Jess. You play slave to a first-class bitch for twelve years…drop her like a hot potato when she really needs you…then start defending her the minute she’s off your hands. Does that make sense to you? Because it doesn’t to me.”
When she didn’t say anything, I lost patience with her. “Oh, to hell with it,” I said wearily. “Who gives a shit? I’ve better things to do.” I stood up and fetched the axe and the lead-weighted walking-stick from beside the door. “Do you want to help me stash these things or are you going home in a huff?”
If her mutinous glare was anything to go by, she was certainly thinking about leaving, and it made me angry suddenly. She was like a spoilt child who used tantrums to get its own way, and I found I didn’t want to play anymore. “There’s only one person who might have turned off the valve, and that’s you, Jess. Who else knew where it was or what impact it would have on Lily? Who—other than you—knew you weren’t visiting any more?”
With a funny little sigh, she pulled the pile of notes towards her and started tearing them up.
I made a half-hearted move towards her. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Why not? Who do you want to show them to? The police? Peter? Madeleine?” She picked up the pieces and transferred them to the sink. “Can I borrow your lighter?”
“No.”
She shrugged indifferently before pulling a booklet of matches from her back trouser pocket. “It’s not what you think,” she said, striking a light and setting fire to the flimsy pile.
“It seems very clear to me.”
She put out an arm to hold me back, although I wasn’t thinking of stopping her. I couldn’t see the point of getting into a fight over evidence that was certainly duplicated in the oil suppliers’ records, and I wondered why Jess hadn’t thought of that. She might have been reading my mind.
“No one will check unless you mention it,” she said. “And if you do, I’ll say the valve was open and the level about six inches down…which is where it should have been. No one’s going to take your word against mine. You were acting like a zombie after your panic attack, and Peter will back me up on that.”
We stood in silence as the paper reduced to sooty ash in the sink, at which point she turned on the
tap and washed it away. By then, of course, I was extremely curious about why she’d done it, as thirty seconds’ reflection told me she wouldn’t have mentioned the valve in the first place if it hadn’t surprised her to find it off. The whole thing was very strange.
“I suppose you’re afraid of me now,” she said abruptly.
“You’re not much different from MacKenzie, that’s for sure. He was very fond of saying no one would believe me…but his threats were a lot more persuasive than yours, Jess.”
She looked uncomfortable. “I’m not threatening you.”
“You said you’d accuse me of being a zombie…and ask Peter to back you up. What’s that if it’s not a threat?” I hefted the walking-stick and axe again, and headed for the corridor. “Don’t forget to lock the mortise when you leave.”
I SAT AT MY DESK in the back room, listening for her Land Rover, but it never left the drive. I used the time to email my parents.
Text received. Phone on the landline when you’re ready. Don’t want to use mine without 141, and it’s a bore climbing into the attic to activate the mobile! Too many rats and bats!!!! Lol, C.
I was acutely attuned to noises I didn’t recognize. Had been for days. I heard Jess’s dogs on the gravel once or twice as they circled the house. Heard the sound of a car as it drove down the valley. Half an hour later I listened to Jess’s steps across the hall. They were more tentative than usual. “It’s not what you think,” she said from the doorway, as if thirty minutes’ deliberation had merely trapped her in a continuous loop of denial.
I turned my chair to look at her. “Then what is it?”
She came into the room and looked past my shoulder to see what I’d typed on my monitor screen.
How did the Derbyshires end up owning more land than the Wrights?
How could they afford it?
I watched Jess’s face as she read the questions. “You said Lily was envious,” I reminded her. “Did she resent the way your family acquired the farm?”
She pondered for a moment. “Supposing I say to you…it’s old history…Lily’s in a good place…and it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie or people will be hurt. Will you drop it?”
“No, but I might agree to keep it to myself.”
She sighed. “It’s really none of your business. It’s no one’s business except mine and Lily’s.”
“There must be someone else involved,” I pointed out, “or you wouldn’t have burnt those delivery slips. I can’t see you doing it to protect Madeleine. You might do it to protect Peter”—I lifted an eyebrow in query—“except Peter wouldn’t have turned off the valve. And that leaves only Nathaniel. I’m betting November was when you threatened to shoot off his dick.”
She capitulated suddenly, pulling up another chair and leaning forward to stare at the monitor. “It’s my fault. I should have guessed he’d do something stupid. I gave him some ammunition to use against Madeleine, and I think he may have decided to take it out on Lily first. He probably thought it was funny.”
“Bloody hilarious,” I said sourly. “He might have killed her.”
“People don’t die because their Agas go out for a few hours. I imagine he wanted to make her angry, and that was the easiest way to do it. He knew where the outhouse was, so all he had to do was leave his car at the gate and sneak across the grass. Lily hated it when things went wrong.” She pulled a face. “I should have told him how bad she was, and he wouldn’t have done it.”
“Madeleine would have told him.”
“I doubt it,” said Jess. “They hardly speak these days.”
“According to who? Nathaniel?”
“He wasn’t lying.”
“Oh, give me a break!” I said crossly. “The man’s a complete shit. He swaps sides at the drop of a hat, dangles his todger in front of any woman who’s prepared to admire it, then thinks he can take up again where he left off. Do you think he tells Madeleine where he’s going when he comes down here to see you? Of course he doesn’t. Cheats never do.”
Jess rubbed her head despairingly. “You’re worse than Peter. I’m not a complete idiot, you know. If you remember, it was me who told you Nathaniel was a shit. I don’t like him. I never have done. I just…loved him for a while.”
“Then why protect him?”
Jess was full of sighs that evening. “I’m not,” she said. “I’m just trying to stop this whole damn mess getting any worse. I don’t see that my life is anyone else’s property. Haven’t you ever wanted to bury a secret so deep that no one will ever find out about it?”
She knew I had.
16
ONE OF THE dogs gave a sudden high-pitched bark, and we looked at each other with startled expressions. When it wasn’t repeated, Jess relaxed. “They’re just playing,” she said. “If there was anyone out there, they’d be barking in unison.”
I didn’t share her confidence. The hairs on the back of my neck were as stiff as brush bristles. “Is the back door still locked?”
“Yes.”
I looked towards the sash window but the darkness outside was total. If the moon had risen, it was obscured by clouds, and I remembered how Jess had been lit up like an actor on a stage when she was in the kitchen. Now the pair of us were visible to anyone. “This isn’t the best room to be in,” I said nervously. “It’s the only one that doesn’t have two exits.”
“If you’re worried, call the police,” Jess said reasonably, “but they won’t get here for twenty minutes…and I wouldn’t advise crying wolf unnecessarily. It’s a long way to come for nothing. The dogs will protect us.”
I bent down to retrieve the walking-stick and axe that were lying on the floor. “Just in case,” I said, handing her the stick. “I’ll keep the axe.”
“I’d prefer it the other way round,” she said with a smile. “I don’t fancy being in a confined space with you and that thing. You’ll drop it on your head the first time you try and lift it…or you’ll drop it on mine. If you have any muscles in your arms I haven’t noticed them. Here.” She made the switch and placed the axe on the chair beside her. “Hold the stick by the unweighted end and swing it at his legs. If you’re lucky, you’ll break his kneecaps. If you’re unlucky, you’ll break mine.”
I must have looked extremely apprehensive, because she drew my attention back to the computer screen. “You wanted to know why we ended up with more land than the Wrights. Which version do you want? My grandmother’s or Lily’s?”
It was done to distract me, because she never volunteered information lightly. I made an effort to respond, although my ears remained attuned for sounds I didn’t recognize. “Are they very different?”
“As chalk and cheese. According to my grandmother, my great-grandfather bought the land when Lily’s father sold off the valley to pay death duties. Everything on this side of the road went to a man called Haversham, and everything on our side to us. Joseph Derbyshire took a loan to do it, and increased our holding from fifty acres to one and a half thousand.”
“And Lily’s version?”
She hesitated. “Her father made Joseph a gift of the land in return for”—she cast around for a suitable phrase—“services rendered.”
I looked at her in surprise. “That’s some gift. What was land worth in the fifties?”
“I don’t know. The deeds of title are with the house deeds, but there’s no valuation and nothing to show that Joseph ever took out a loan to pay for them. If he did, the debt was cleared before my father inherited the property.” She fell silent.
“What kind of services?”
Jess pulled a face. “Lily called it a disclaimer. She said Joseph signed a letter, promising silence…but there’s no copy of anything like that with the deeds.”
I was even more surprised. “It sounds like blackmail.”
“I know.”
“Is that the ammunition you gave Nathaniel?”
She shook her head. “It’s the last thing I’d want Madeleine to know. She’d take me t
o court if she found out.”
I had no idea where UK law stood on property acquired through coercion fifty years before, but I couldn’t believe Madeleine would have a case. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” I told her. “The rule of thumb says possession is nine-tenths of the law…and if you demonstrate that at least two generations of Derbyshires have farmed it in good faith…” I petered out in face of her glum expression. “Did your father know?”
“He must have done. The first thing Gran asked me after the funerals was whether Dad had told me the history of the farm.” She rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. “When I said no, she gave me the loan story…and I never questioned it until Lily became confused and started confiding the family secrets.”
“Because she thought you were your grandmother?”
“In spades. Sometimes she’d be re-running conversations they had after the folks died…other times she’d jump back half a century to when Gran was her maid.” She made a rolling gesture with her hand as if to denote a cycle. “It took me ages to work out that a thank-you referred to the nineteen-nineties and an order meant she was back in the fifties. She kept telling me how kind Frank had been to her…and what a sweet wife he’d found in Jenny. How they’d never taken advantage…in spite of her beastliness at the beginning. Her biggest regret was that she’d never acknowledged Dad while she had the chance.” She lapsed into another silence.
“In what way?” I prompted.
“As her brother.” This time her sigh was immense. “If Lily was telling the truth, then my father’s father was her father, William Wright…not Gran’s husband, Jack Derbyshire, who died shortly after the war. Which makes Lily my aunt…Madeleine my first cousin…and me a Wright.” Her stare became very bleak suddenly. “The Derbyshires don’t exist anymore except as a name, and I really hated Lily for telling me that.”
The Devil`s Feather Page 21
