Long after it was swallowed in the ferocious inferno, and the charred blackened corpses were brought from its heart, the house struggled in its death throes, emitting a weird lament that merged with the night, like long-ago witchcraft.
The tragic news spread far and wide, sweeping through the quaint old town of Dunster like an invading plague, affecting every man, woman and child who knew the name of Pengally. Some expected such a violent end, had foretold it over the years. Others were shocked to their roots, hurrying away with bowed heads and frantically making a sign of the cross on their brows, lest the evil should seek them out!
Greystone House was reduced to ashes. Madness had taken place there. And murder! Vincent Pengally was not killed by the fire; nor was his tragic daughter, Scarlet. As for Silas, whose lifelong obsession with the bewitching Scarlet was well known, it seemed as though he too had met a bloody and violent end at the hands of some insane creature. Rumour had it that Shelagh Williams had murdered all three. But why? Questions were raised. Did anyone really know her? Or where she hailed from originally? No one had been able to ascertain her identity or the reasons for her apparent madness. She had come to the Luttrell Arms as a young girl not yet twenty years of age. That was almost twenty years ago. No one knew her then. No one knew her now. She had avoided friendships and strictly kept her own counsel. Always the stranger. A private soul. A MAD SOUL.
No one regretted the destruction of Greystone House, nor of its sinister master. But what of Silas? Another stranger. A child who came from nowhere: darkly handsome, surly, morose, fashioned in the mould of the devil who brought him to Greystone House? And Scarlet, whose whole life had been a purgatory beneath her father’s ominous shadow. No one doubted that the hand of the devil had touched these two unfortunate souls, tormenting them beyond human endurance. The only comfort they had found was in each other, yet it was forbidden. Torture, suspicion and fear had torn them apart. But something else, a far more powerful force, had emerged to unite them. Passion. Love. Death. There were things of the secret heart that could never be smothered. They blossomed and grew beyond all else, spanning a lifetime. Released beyond. Immortal.
‘Be patient with him.’ The matron ushered Inspector Farrell into the cubicle, softly closing the curtains behind them as she whispered, ‘He has very little time. And I have already told you the full story.’
The Inspector nodded, his loose pale eyes sympathetic, his features set in a stern expression. ‘I must be sure,’ he murmured, ‘you do understand?’ She lowered her gaze and stepped away, discreetly placing herself where she was least conspicuous.
‘I need to confess… please. I need to confess before I meet my maker.’ The voice was almost inaudible. The mask of death was already grey in the old man’s protruding, frightened eyes.
‘That’s why I’m here, sir… to listen.’ The Inspector eased his bulky frame onto the bed edge, leaning forward so as not to miss a single word. ‘Now then… don’t be afraid. No one is going to punish you. Just tell me everything you know.’
The man sighed, a long weary sound that seemed to drain him. He closed his eyes. When at last he opened them to gaze unseeing into the Inspector’s face, they were glazed with tears.
‘May God forgive me,’ he cried, clutching the Inspector’s hand with trembling fingers. ‘My sins have found me out.’
21
‘Eight people?’ John Blackwood gripped the arms of his chair, his face a study in astonishment, as he stared at the Inspector. ‘Are you telling us that Shelagh Williams murdered eight people?’ The colour drained from his face and he felt a sharp pang of guilt. But he could not have known. Even he could not have prevented it. All the same. All the same. He turned away.
‘Hannah Pengally… my grandmother… was she murdered also?’ Cassie’s voice trembled. Trent leaned over the back of the chair, reaching his two hands down, caressing her. ‘I’m fine,’ she murmured, touching her fingers to his. He had been her strength. She bowed her head, unable to say any more. Her heart was too heavy and there were no words to describe her desolation. In that all too fleeting tragic moment when she had seen the face of Scarlet Pengally something was triggered inside her: a long-lost memory of a young and beautiful woman with tears running down her face and her desperate love spilling over with the words, ‘Ssh, sweetheart… you mustn’t cry. Nancy will be your new mammy.’ Now, as the picture emerged clearer in her mind, Cassie could not hold back the sobs that racked her sore heart. The years sped away. She was a child again, safe in her mammy’s arms. Then she was screaming, as tender loving hands wrenched her away. Oh, how desperately she, had scanned the driveway through the back window of the car. Searching. Calling for her mammy. Loving her so much that the pain had stayed with her all these years. Now it was too late! Too late to tell Scarlet how she had forgiven her and how very much she had longed for her during those early days in America. Now she would never be able to talk with Scarlet, to laugh with her, or cry with her. Scarlet Pengally was gone. And yet Cassie knew that her mother would live on, in the legend that was already in the making. The thought gave her a degree of solace. She prayed that people would speak of Scarlet Pengally with kind understanding tongues. Cassie had to know. ‘Inspector Farrell… why did Shelagh Williams murder my family?’
‘For no other reason than that they were Pengallys.’ He looked at her in a kindly manner, for she had suffered so much, and he had a daughter of the same age. ‘You were in grave danger from the moment of your birth, Cassie… Scarlet Pengally knew that. That was why she made the greatest sacrifice any mother could ever make… she sent you away where she felt you would be safe. Unfortunately she believed Shelagh Williams to be a friend… over the years your mother confided in this demented woman.’ He shook his head and momentarily lowered his gaze. ‘Scarlet Pengally was cruelly lured to her death… just as the others were.’
‘Who was she?’ Trent came to sit beside Cassie, taking her hand in his and all the while his dark green eyes intent on the Inspector. ‘The others who died… they surely could not all have been Pengallys? And why did she hate that family so much?’
For a long, poignant moment the Inspector made no reply. Instead, he sank back into the chair, stroking his finger and thumb across his chin and staring upwards with a far wider look in his eyes, as though struggling to make order out of the chaos in his mind. Suddenly he sat forward in his chair, stiffened his shoulders and began to address the three anxious beings before him in a more quiet sober voice. ‘It’s a strange and sinister story.’ He looked from one to the other, his face unyielding. ‘The roots of it go back nigh on forty years… beginning and ending with the man known as Vincent Pengally. Shelagh Williams’s entire life was eaten up with hatred and revenge because of what he did. She was driven insane… no one could have realised.’ He glanced reassuringly at the old man. ‘You were the only one she did not entirely convince. She knew you were wary of her. But you couldn’t have known… you have nothing to reproach yourself for. Remember that. The more insane the mind is, the more devious and calculating.’ He waited. When John slowly nodded his head, he went on. ‘About forty years ago, a young woman was besotted with her lover… left her husband and small child for him. That lover was Vincent Pengally. The woman was Evelyn Walters… mother of Shelagh. Mister Walters was a gentle, kind man, heartbroken by the break-up of his marriage; he did everything he could to persuade Evelyn to forget this other man. She couldn’t… or wouldn’t! Distraught, he left the area, taking the girl with him. From that day on, they never knew any peace… wandering from place to place like gypsies. He tried to kill himself… three times. Each time it was the girl who found him and ran for help. Each time her hatred grew, and the idea of revenge became a terrible obsession. Gradually, cunningly, she began delving for information… reasons, the truth, a name; hoarding every little snippet until the time and opportunity when she could exact revenge for herself and for the father she adored. Day by day she watched him destroy himself… drink, loose women. He
became possessed of extreme moods… on one occasion he was made to serve a prison term. During this time the girl was sent to a grim establishment. When her father was released, he was a broken man… the bitterness was gone, and with it his feeling for the girl. But she stood by him… watching over him, caring for him, when he was suffering from a crippling nervous disorder that slowly began to rob him of his faculties. The girl idolised him.’ Here he paused, turning his head to the window and gazing out at the ruins of Greystone House. Presently he resumed his story. ‘Shelagh Walters was a girl… just a girl. But her young heart was already black with hatred… for the mother who had deserted them, for the ‘devil’ who had taken her away. As her father grew weaker, so the awful hatred grew stronger. Finally, when Shelagh was fourteen years of age, her father was pronounced mentally unstable. Soon after, he was committed. The girl was devastated. She wanted to go with him… work at the institution… help to provide and care for him. She was turned away. Undaunted, she applied for work at a nearby home for the decrepit and seriously afflicted, a place similar to the one where her father was kept… but containing a certain element in society that was far more unpredictable, and considered to be extremely dangerous. She found no difficulty in obtaining work here. It was a harrowing experience for her. Yet she saved every penny of her meagre wages… determined to find a better place for her father. Never a day went by when she didn’t visit him. Finally she did manage to have her father transferred to a more congenial place, but there was never any hope of him making a full recovery. The money she was earning never seemed enough, so when she saw advertised the position of chambermaid at the Luttrell Arms in Dunster, she set her heart on acquiring the post. Over the years she had ferreted out enough information to know that the man who lured her mother away was a man by the name of Vincent Pengally. She knew also that he had lived in a place near Minehead… a place called Dunster. She changed her name, cajoled someone into forging a reference and consequently she was installed in the Luttrell Arms from where she kept track of Vincent Pengally’s every movement, frustrated by the fact that he was a man who ferociously defended his privacy and scorned any outside influence. So she did the next best thing… she struck up a friendship of sorts with Ada Blackwood. It was through her that she heard the rumours of a woman called Evelyn… buried in a pauper’s grave. She knew the woman must be her mother. She still couldn’t forgive her. When Hannah Pengally fell ill, Shelagh seized her opportunity.’ Inspector Farrell looked at Cassie, his face compassionate as he told her gently, ‘Soon after, she urged your grandmother to her death.’
‘What kind of monster could harm a timid, frail creature like Hannah Pengally?’ John Blackwood had closely followed the Inspector’s tragic tale, quietly blaming himself, for he was the one who had persuaded Vincent Pengally to hire Shelagh Williams as housekeeper.
‘Shelagh Williams was seen that night. She was wearing the cloak and hood that had been the only thing belonging to her mother, Evelyn. All these years she had kept it with her… a remnant from the past that she couldn’t let go. There was a young pot-girl who lived in at the Luttrell Arms… a brash creature who had taken an instant dislike to Shelagh Williams when she had arrived as the new chambermaid. She became suspicious when Shelagh took to haunting the moors at all hours of the night. Suspecting Shelagh Williams of having an affair with her young man, the pot-girl took to following Shelagh. On a certain night she saw her murder Hannah Pengally. The result was years of blackmail. The financial drain on Shelagh Pengally was crippling… what with the expense of keeping her father cared for, and catering to the pot-girl’s demands… demands that increased tenfold over the years. She also knew how deeply the pot-girl hated her, and she lived in fear of being betrayed. She finally decided she had to get rid of her.’
‘Of course!’ John Blackwood recalled the girl. He grew excited. ‘The mutilated body found on the moors… was that the girl?’
The Inspector nodded.
‘But you said there had been eight murders?’
‘That’s right.’ The Inspector reached into his waistcoat pocket. Taking out a small clay pipe, he stuffed it with tobacco. Making no attempt to light it, he rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers. ‘Eight murders. Hannah Pengally drowned and the witness to it viciously mutilated some years later. Vincent Pengally horribly tortured, slowly poisoned, then hanged. Scarlet poisoned. The man, Silas, bludgeoned to death. Scarlet’s son and her husband, Garrett Summers, might have stood in the way of luring Scarlet back to Greystone House… and so, they too were murdered… dashed to their deaths after being forced over a cliff.’ He glanced at John, saying, ‘Do you recall the discovery of the two bodies at the herb-gatherer’s cottage?’ When John thought for a moment, then nodded, he went on, ‘That was the strangest of all. The old woman died at the hands of a twisted cripple boy… horribly deformed he was. It seems that Shelagh Williams was there when the old woman was crushed to death in the boy’s arms. She turned it to her advantage. The boy was terrified of her. She used him… used the cottage, and got to know the poisons which the old herb-gatherer kept. When the crippled boy was of no further use to her, Shelagh Williams fed him a paralysing substance, secured him to the outhouse, and left him to starve to death. Later, when she was satisfied he was dead, she left the cottage as she had found it… and only ever returned once.’
‘Good God!’ John Blackwood was bolt upright in his chair. ‘Scarlet was right! She swore there was somebody there when she was forced to take shelter in the cottage… when Cassie here was struggling to be born. “A dark, hooded figure,” she said. Folks thought she were imagining things.’
‘Scarlet Pengally was not “imagining things”. If Garrett Summers and his men had not arrived, there is no doubt she would have been murdered there and then.’ He looked at Cassie, whose face was chalk-white, ‘and you with her, I’m afraid.’ Suddenly he rose from the chair. ‘Forgive me if all this has been too distressing for you, my dear… but it will all be public knowledge soon enough. It’s best that you are armed with the facts. I’ll trouble you no longer.’
‘How were you able to find all this out… so many killings… so many years?’ John Blackwood also got from his chair.
‘The truth found us, Mr Blackwood. As you know, there was considerable newspaper coverage of the tragic events at Greystone House. Consequently we were called to an old gentlefolks’ home in Taunton. It seemed that Mr Walters… Shelagh Williams’ father, was fast slipping away. He learned of the events and felt he had to make a confession before being called to meet his maker. Apparently Shelagh Williams confided everything to him… every gory detail as it took place. He knew she was insane. He blamed himself… tried to shut it all out of his mind. Mr Walters died soon after we left.’ He half-turned away, but then a strange look came over his face. ‘The crippled boy… now, there’s a weird and sinister thing. Shelagh Williams never knew it, but when she killed that unfortunate creature… she killed a Pengally!’
‘What do you mean?’ Cassie’s heart turned over.
‘During our investigations, we tracked down the herb-gatherer’s husband. In his wanderings, he had met up with Silas. It seems that Silas had this haunting fixation that, on the night when he first came to Greystone House, he had witnessed the birth of two babies… one was Scarlet; the other a grotesquely deformed thing, that was later shut in the cellar with him. Terrified by the child’s screams, he tried to comfort it. Some time later, when Silas was weak and confused from his imprisonment, he thought some terrible demon of the night had torn the child from his arms. All of this he revealed one evening to an inn full of people… he had been driven to drink… was nearly out of his mind with his obsession for Scarlet Pengally. His strange story was scoffed at. Nobody paid much attention, with the exception of one man… the herb-gatherer’s husband. He took Silas on one side, questioned him thoroughly, and realised that the ‘demon of the night’ who had torn the deformed creature from the boy’s arms was his own black dog. He had taken the
crippled boy home to his childless wife, and over the years had come to bitterly regret it. The boy became a monster… that “monster” was Vincent Pengally’s own son.’
In the ensuing shocked silence, Inspector Farrell quickly left.
‘Oh, look there!’ Cassie pointed to a tiny yellow bud that was pushing its way up through the scorched ground near the entrance to Greystone House.
‘A daffodil,’ Trent told her, affectionately placing his arm round her shoulders and smiling into the luxuriant dark eyes that John had commented were ‘Scarlet Pengally all over again.’ ‘It is spring, you know,’ he laughed.
‘Oh, but to bloom here.’ She stooped to uncover the debris from around it. ‘A new life beginning… where so many ended in tragedy.’
‘Roots go deep,’ he said softly, pulling her to him, ‘life will go on.’ He began walking her away. ‘It’s time we made our way back, Cassie. I’m glad you accepted Father’s offer for you to stay at the cottage.’ Already he felt the murmurings of love for her.
‘So am I,’ she smiled up at him. ‘You and your father have been very kind to me, Trent. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’ And I don’t know how I can ever leave you, she thought sadly.
‘Cassie… must you go away tomorrow? Is there so much more for you in America than I can offer you?’ He bent his head to kiss her. She did not resist. The kiss was gentle, reassuring, and filled with the promise of wonderful things. She loved him!
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