‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’
‘No. There is nothing to tell.’ Except fragmented memories and instinctive dread, she thought. And how could she speak of such things when she didn’t understand them herself?
‘Is there no one? No relative, or friend?’
Scarlet thought for a moment before shaking her head. ‘No one,’ she murmured. Except the faces that fill me with panic and make me want to flee the dark, she recalled. Suddenly her fears were tempered with the emergence of a particular face, round and kindly, with small brown eyes. It was the only friendly image amongst those that constantly assailed her. Shelagh. The face had no real substance. But it had a name.
‘If you should need us… this is God’s house. The doors are always open.’
‘I know.’ Scarlet had experienced a certain degree of peace here in the Convent of All Saints. Yet she knew that never again would she cross its threshold. What she craved was not here.
At the foot of the wide, meandering path, Scarlet paused. From here, the convent looked magnificent: a creation of huge gables and splendid bow windows, crisscrossed with leaded diamonds, the ancient brickwork festooned with rambling plants already bursting with glorious May blossoms. The air was heady with their powerful scent. Scarlet walked away; the sunshine felt warm on her face, yet her heart was cold.
At the gate she was tempted to look back once more, but she forced herself to go on. It was not good to dwell too much on the past, she told herself. We are all travelling towards our destiny. And that must always take us forward, however uncertain or frightening is the journey. All the same, she longed to know of her roots.
An hour later, Scarlet was seated in a café opposite the promenade, quietly sipping her tea and ruminating on the haven she had just left. The nuns had been both patient and kind with her, and she would never forget them. At first she had loathed the work in the laundry, but later it had seemed to give her a sense of purpose. Her stay there had seemed all too short, although in truth she had seen four summers come and go. Time had passed. It meant nothing to her. She was older, but not wiser.
This morning, when she had looked at herself in the mirror, she realised with a shock that her youth had gone. Staring back at her was a woman now in her thirties. Yet beneath the maturity of that familiar face was something that had not changed with the years. A certain spectral essence, a loitering shadow that marred the beauty and scarred the dark tragic eyes. Always the fear was there, lurking, swamping her heart and punishing her soul.
‘Is there anything else you want?’ The waitress placed the bill on the table. She was a young cockney woman possessed of a bright cheerful personality and endowed with that fortunate ability to put people at their ease. ‘Ain’t I seen you in ’ere before, lady?’ she asked, eyeing Scarlet in a quizzical manner and thinking how strikingly handsome she was. The girl prided herself on never forgetting a face. She struggled to recall where she had seen those elegant features, and the unusually lovely dark eyes that held a world of pain and secrets. There was a strange quietness about the lady. And a disturbing sense of wildness. Even in her ordinary blue summer dress and with her rich black hair tied back into the nape of her neck, there was something different about her. Some uniqueness that made her stand out in a crowd. ‘Been in ’ere before, ’ave yer?’ It bothered her when she couldn’t place a face precisely.
Scarlet smiled. How clever of the young woman to remember her. The last time they had spoken was when the cockney waitress had lectured a colleague for threatening to turn a vagrant onto the streets. That was close on five years ago. The ‘vagrant’ was Scarlet. ‘It’s been a long time since I was in here,’ Scarlet told her now. ‘I remember you also.’
‘There!’ The young woman was relieved to be proved right. ‘I knew I’d seen you somewhere.’ She frowned. Funny, but somehow she still couldn’t recall their exact meeting. ‘Just arrived… or just going?’ she asked, her attention caught by the small suitcase at Scarlet’s feet.
‘Just arrived.’ There was a surge of confidence in Scarlet’s voice, and a reassurance in her smile that belied the truth.
‘Thought you’d get ’ere before the summer crush, eh?’ When Scarlet merely nodded, she went on, ‘Where yer staying?’
‘Oh, I haven’t booked anywhere. I’ll find a quiet place, off the main promenade, I expect.’
‘I know the very place!… Mrs Grady’s boarding-house on Victoria Street. She keeps a clean respectable establishment, and her terms are very good, so I’m told.’ When Scarlet hesitated, she suspected the reason why, and was quick to assure her, ‘She’s not a busybody neither, by all accounts… allows the boarders their privacy.’
‘Is it a busy place?’ Scarlet dreaded the thought of being hemmed in by people.
‘I don’t think so. Happen no more than half a dozen boarders altogether.’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll look round first… take my time and find the right place.’ Scarlet was loath to admit that this ‘Mrs Grady’s boarding-house’ seemed exactly what she was looking for. She had learned to be cautious, and though this cockney woman was friendly enough, it wouldn’t do for too many strangers to know her whereabouts.
‘Please yerself, lady.’ The waitress shrugged her shoulders and scurried away. Scarlet looked about. Apart from an elderly gentleman seated in the far corner, she was the only customer.
Resisting the urge to stroll along the promenade and watch the children at play on the beaches, Scarlet hurried towards Victoria Street. She was most anxious to secure a room. She had much to think about. She had to think, to pry and delve into that part of her subconsciousness that sought to drive her insane. It was all there, the secrets, the past, even the future. If there was one.
‘Amy will show you to your room.’ As she opened the register, Mrs Grady glanced at Scarlet’s hand. Seeing no ring there, she collected the pen from the desk and held it towards Scarlet. ‘If you would just fill in your name and the date, miss,’ she suggested, ‘your room number is four… a nice spacious room at the top of the stairs.’
Suppressing the shame and the panic that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her, Scarlet gripped her suitcase with both hands. ‘Can I leave you to fill in the register?’ she entreated, beginning to move away. ‘I’ve been travelling… need to lie down a while.’ She drew a trembling hand across her brow, indicating that she had a headache. She could not bring herself to admit that she had never learned to read or write.
‘Of course.’ Mrs Grady began writing, murmuring the details aloud. ‘May the twenty-ninth, 1936… Room Four. How long will you be staying, dearie?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘In… def… in… itely,’ Scarlet smiled to see Mrs Grady struggling to spell the word. Somehow, it eased her own shame. ‘And what did you say your name was?’ the genial woman enquired.
‘Scarlet.’ She felt the suitcase being taken from her grip by the girl Mrs Grady had referred to as Amy; a small being in dark dress and white apron. She had the merriest brown eyes.
‘Miss… Scarlet.’ Mrs Grady looked up, waiting. Her curious gaze met Scarlet’s anxious frown. ‘Yes, dearie?… your surname, if you please?’
The name sprang to Scarlet’s lips of its own accord. ‘Pengally.’ She was visibly shocked. SCARLET PENGALLY. That was her name!
Mrs Grady had seen the colour drain from Scarlet’s face. ‘Don’t hang about there, Amy!’ she reprimanded the girl. ‘Take Miss Pengally up to her room at once.’ Addressing herself to Scarlet, she said, ‘You look exhausted, dearie. You go with Amy. Let me know if there’s anything you need.’ She watched as Amy led their new guest upstairs. Shaking her head, she wondered whether this ‘Scarlet Pengally’ would be trouble. She hoped not. This was a respectable house!
Scarlet wished Amy would go. She was a pleasant little thing, bright and cheerful, but her incessant chattering jarred on Scarlet’s already frayed nerves. The name of ‘Pengally’ throbbed in her mind like the ticking of
a clock… Pengally – Pengally; SCARLET PENGALLY. That was her name, yet it belonged to an era she did not know. It should have comforted her to find that another fragment of the jigsaw had fallen into place. Instead it greatly disturbed her. She had the eerie sensation of going down a dark narrow tunnel, always travelling towards the light in the far distance, a light that was the tiniest speck, yet now was beginning to grow, illuminating isolated patches in the darkness, until soon the darkness would be swallowed and the whole picture would emerge. Scarlet was excited. She was also petrified. She remembered the piece of paper sewn into the lining of her coat, and which had worked its way through the broken stitches. The paper was safe in her suitcase now. Thanks to Sister Mary, Scarlet knew exactly what was written there. It bore the names ‘Cassie’ and ‘Nancy Thornton,’ together with an address in America. Scarlet was comforted. Later, if the nightmare persisted, she might ask the woman at the post office to send a message to this ‘Nancy Thornton’.
‘This is the best room in the house… my favourite.’ Amy swung down the case onto the chequered eiderdown. ‘Do you want me to unpack, miss?’ she asked, patiently tucking a stray lock of hair beneath her frilly cap, and wondering about the one small suitcase.
‘No, thank you. I’ll see to it.’ Holding out the coat which she had carried over her arm, Scarlet felt in the pocket and drew out her purse. Taking from it a shilling piece, she handed it to Amy. ‘I’ll call if I need anything.’ Suddenly she felt weary.
‘You do that, miss,’ remarked the girl. She then proceeded to open all the drawers and cupboards, checking the linen and commenting on the news that was sweeping the land. ‘It’s all in the papers,’ she chirped, completely oblivious to Scarlet’s preoccupation with her own thoughts. ‘King Edward VIII’s coronation is set for May of next year. If you ask me, it’s a good thing too… I honestly thought he’d end up and marry that Mrs Simpson. It’s a shame though, don’t you think, Miss Pengally?… I mean them two do love each other, don’t they?’ She seemed astonished that the new guest was not hanging on her every word. Somewhat peeved, she closed the drawer and hurried to the door. ‘If that’s all, then?’ she asked.
‘Thank you… Amy.’ Scarlet was pleased when finally the girl departed. At last she was alone. With time to think. Twice she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes to sleep; but there was no sleep in her. Agitated, she began pacing up and down the room, thinking, searching for the answer. Scarlet Pengally! There must now be a way to trace her origins. But where? How? Inside her skull the fire raged, her eyes felt like lead weights. She was so tired. So very tired. She made her thoughts pause before they pushed her sanity over the edge. Her gaze was lifted out of the tiny side window that overlooked the promenade. A sense of desolation swamped her. Out there were ordinary people, with ordinary lives. Ordered. Fulfilled. She was neither. It was a beautiful day. A lazy tranquil day, when everything was bathed in glorious sunshine, and lovers strolled arm in arm along the edge of the white, glistening sands. Lovers, Silas, SILAS. ‘Where are you now?’ Her voice sounded like a death knell in the silence of her room.
Suddenly, it came to her. She would go and see Reverend Arnold. He would help her, she knew. Hadn’t he said as much on his visits to the hospital where first she had been taken? ‘If there’s ever anything I can do for you, Scarlet,’ he had promised, ‘you have only to ask.’ Well, now there was something he could do. He could find her past; Scarlet Pengally’s past. She could go to the police, but her every instinct warned her not to. Yet why should she fear what might be unearthed? She did not know. She only knew the awful nightmares that would not let her be. And the final premonition that had become like another sense. Sadness and frustration threatened to overwhelm her. She drew her gaze from the horizon, from the ‘ordinary’ people and the brilliant sunshine. Yes, she would go to Reverend Arnold and beg him to ask his God for guidance. Because, whatever the consequences, she had to know what lay behind her before she could go on. And perhaps, while he was praying, the man of God might save one small prayer for her wretched soul. In her moment of darkest desolation, Scarlet regretted having returned the cross to the nun. ‘It will comfort and protect you always,’ she had said. And that was what Scarlet craved. ‘Comfort and protection.’
‘If you know where she is… for mercy’s sake, Shelagh, have pity. Tell me!’ Silas raised his stricken violet eyes. ‘You must know!’ he pleaded. Something in the timbre of his voice made her turn away. ‘She’s not dead. I know it.’ He bowed his head to the fire’s glow, becoming mesmerised by the brilliant colours there. He had a sudden image of Scarlet: the chiselled contours of her lovely face, the long rich hair as black as night, the dark bewitching eyes that melted his very soul. Black cruelty spiralled through the image. Would she never stop hurting him? He shuddered. His life was meaningless without her. His death, the same.
‘No, Silas… I’ve heard nothing of Scarlet in all this time. Who knows where she might be… since Garrett and the boy.’ She paused. They both remembered and the air became still. ‘I don’t know. I can only imagine how it must have torn her apart to give away the girl she adored… to “make a new life for herself”, as they say.’ She smiled. A secret smile. ‘Believe me, there was much more to it than that. Cassie was all she had left.’ Shelagh leaned forward from her chair. ‘Let me take that.’ She wrapped her stocky fingers round the cup and drew it from his grasp. His hands dropped to his knees as he fell back, exhausted, into the tall horsehair chair that was Vincent Pengally’s. ‘You’re driving yourself insane… you know that?’ She was astonished to see how well he fitted the chair, almost as well as Pengally himself. It suited him. It set her thinking!
‘You’re wrong, Shelagh! Cassie was not “all that Scarlet had left”. She had me. She will always have me.’ He lapsed into a strange silence.
Engrossed in thought, Shelagh watched him. The sight of his long lean form occupying that particular chair with such ease and naturalness troubled her. It was almost as though he was set in the same mould as Pengally. At first, she was gazing on Silas. Then, as she stared all the longer, he was not Silas. He became Vincent Pengally! Suddenly they were back. All those unsettling currents and dangerous undertows that left her helpless in their grip. She did not like them. She could never control them. ‘You’d better go,’ she said frostily, rising from the chair, ‘It’s getting late.’
At the door, he turned to tell her, ‘She will come back… I know it.’
‘Yes, Silas. I believe it also.’ She did not tell him that she had made many attempts to track Scarlet after her untimely departure from the area. She did not reveal her reasons. But, like him, she knew that Scarlet would return to Greystone House. It was the only way they would all find peace!
‘I don’t know where else to look, Shelagh. I’ve exhausted so many avenues. All the same, when she returns, I’ll be here, waiting. Now that I’ve sold my business and moved into Dunster, she won’t escape me so easily next time.’
‘Goodnight, Silas.’
‘Forgive me for haunting Greystone House. It’s just that I feel closer to Scarlet here.’
‘You know what the consequences would be if Vincent Pengally were to find you under this roof?’
He nodded. ‘He’s a devil. Or he would have died long ago.’ A look of hatred darkened his eyes.
‘He has unusual strength. No doubt he will linger a while yet.’ She smiled, raising her face to the night sky. ‘Looks like a bad storm brewing.’ This month of November had been a strange one.
‘Will you attend Ada Blackwood’s funeral tomorrow?’
‘No. I don’t like seeing the dead put into the ground. It’s too final. You can’t see them any more.’ Her voice faltered.
‘I understand.’ He thought of Scarlet, and his heart was heavy.
While Silas hurried into the night, his crazed mind intent on Scarlet, Greystone House was plunged into darkness, save for one small candle burning in an upper room. Inside, the rocking chair made a weird melodic sound a
s it was thrust back and forth. Soft laughter disturbed the air. Deft fingers moved swiftly, purposefully. The noose began to take shape. An insane whisper permeated the silence. ‘Soon… soon it will be over. Justice will be done, and the spirit will rest!’
19
‘Why couldn’t Mr Arnold come with us?’ Scarlet glanced at the vicar. She felt uncomfortable in his presence. Strange, she thought, how he claimed to have known her since birth. Yet she could not recall him at all.
‘I told you, Scarlet… parish duties would not allow him the time.’ The Reverend Mr Lacy sighed and half-turned his head towards her. ‘Weymouth is a big responsibility, my dear. But you needn’t concern yourself about things… I can only imagine your father will give thanks to God for your safe return.’ He concentrated his attention on the road ahead. At least the recent snowfall had not settled as was feared; in fact there was hardly any sign left of it at all. He shook his grey head at his own thoughts. It had been the worst January he could ever remember.
‘Mr Lacy?’
‘Yes, child?’
There was a moment during which Scarlet resented being referred to as a ‘child’. ‘Tell me again… about my father… about “Greystone House”.’ Oh, how she wished that her urgent message to America had brought a reply. But it had not, and now she had given up hope of receiving one. But soon she could ask her father to satisfy all of her questions.
‘Goodness me!… I must have told you a dozen times already.’ He was instantly mortified at the impatience in his tone. After all, was he not doing God’s work? Hadn’t Mr Arnold been guided by the hand of the Almighty when, on one of the rare occasions they found themselves in each other’s company, he had mentioned his search for relatives of a woman called Scarlet Pengally. ‘Well, of course, Mr Arnold only had to tell me how you were able to recall certain names. What convinced me that you were the one and the same Scarlet Pengally was when he told me that you remembered the name of Hannah. After that, of course… I was impatient to see you for myself.’ His long congenial face broke into a self-satisfied smile. ‘You always had the most beautiful dark eyes. Not the sort of eyes that a man might forget… even a man of God.’ He chuckled. ‘They haven’t changed, Scarlet… only grown more beautiful.’
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