Mulligan's Yard

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘But I can’t stop here,’ Sally moaned. ‘There’s her up there on her own for a start. She was in the kitchen with her ear up to the cellar door, said she was cleaning. She never cleans when Mrs Kenny’s out, she just dozes or gets up to mischief.’

  Ida sighed and shook her head. ‘I’d walk up with you to the farm, love, but it’s twice as far as the Grange and I might not get there. Some use I’d be if you had to carry me.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ offered Diane.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ commanded Ida. ‘You’re stopping right where you are, lady, and that’s an end to it.’

  ‘But, Gran—’

  ‘No!’

  Ida walked about a bit while she had what she called a good cogitation. There was nothing else for it, she concluded after two circuits of the small room. Sally wanted to get to Caldwell, while Ida, too, was concerned about the whereabouts of Mona and Mr Mulligan. ‘Diane, go across to the shop and ask Mr Wilkinson if he’ll take me and Sally up to Caldwell Farm in his motor van. Tell him it’s a bit of an emergency, like.’

  Diane shot across the floor like a bullet from a gun.

  ‘And, lady,’ continued Ida, ‘you make sure you stop in here till I come back, look after Joe and put him to bed.’

  ‘Yes, Gran.’

  ‘And no chasing lights what aren’t there.’

  ‘Yes, Gran. I mean, no, Gran.’

  ‘I saw a light,’ said Sally.

  ‘Buckets of blood,’ sighed Ida. ‘Not you and all.’

  ‘Oh, it were just a little one,’ said Sally apologetically.

  ‘Where?’ asked Diane, her fingers clasped to the doorknob.

  ‘In the woods,’ answered Sally. ‘When I was running down the lane to the village. A long way back, it was.’

  ‘Hmmph,’ muttered Ida. ‘Better tell the army to come out, then. I looked and I never saw nothing.’

  The expression on Diane’s face was little short of triumphant. ‘See, Gran, it weren’t just me.’

  ‘Me and all,’ called Joe.

  ‘Aye, you and all, as ever,’ replied Ida. ‘Forget lights, all of you. Joe, get ready for bed. Sally, drink that tea afore it gets cold.’ She turned to Diane. ‘And, you, get going while the going’s good.’

  Diane got going.

  There was movement out there; he could not see it, yet he was able to sense it through the Light. It burnt strong and true in a glass-sided lantern on top of an old fruit box. His strength was such now that he could create his own Light from a safety match, no need to carry it with him any more. His prayer was so powerful these days that he could breathe life into any flame.

  Two vehicles had driven back down from the farm and off into the dead of night. The third, Mulligan’s, he thought, had not made the return journey. So Mulligan was still up there with Amy and the young one, the woman who belonged to the Light.

  The first car had moved slowly away from the farm, while the second, probably a van, had been driven away at a very fast speed. Where was the devil Mulligan? What was he doing at this very moment? Calm, Wilkinson ordered. He must remain calm while waiting for Margot. It might not happen tonight, but she would come soon, he knew that.

  Grant me peace and quiet while I meditate, O Lord, while I prepare myself for the task to come. Bring your infinite peace into the space I occupy, allow me the power to follow my destiny. She will come and I shall bring her to you and to the miracle. With her I can be a man, for you will show me the way.

  In the seat of guardians she and I will reside, open to the sky and to your glory. In that land I shall make children. In that land, under the everlasting stars and planets, she and I will live as one, guarded by your Eternal Light, the flame of Moses.

  My task is plain, for you have shown me the path, Lord. The obstacles are clearing now, for it is time to stake my claim.

  He praised the Lord once more, then carried on waiting.

  Twenty-three

  Up at Caldwell Farm, things were still rather out of hand. Elspeth and her husband had gone to bed, the former upset by the scene in her kitchen, the latter after wearing himself out in a fruitless search for the errant Eliza. Eliza, like her sisters, had spent her life walking in the woods, but had seldom stayed out so long in weather like this. She had seemed odder than ever, and was possibly being pursued by police or by the bereaved family of Rupert Smythe.

  James Mulligan was pacing about ceaselessly, Margot wept with relief in a corner, Mona tried to stay awake, while Amy, reeling from several shocks, simply stared through a window at nothing in particular.

  Camilla’s brother was dead; Margot had been made pregnant by the deceased, Eliza had seen him die, had possibly contributed to the event, Mrs Smythe was hovering on the brink of insanity, while Amy herself was not feeling too stable in that department. Could life become any worse than this?

  The winter night was black, illuminated by a mere sliver of moon that skipped in and out of high cloud. She saw James striding about, his reflection clear in dark glass, so she pulled the curtains and swung round to face the room. ‘She can’t stay out all night,’ she announced, to no-one in particular. ‘She knows she’d freeze to death.’

  ‘I must go and find her,’ he said. ‘There could be a severe frost tonight.’

  ‘No,’ replied Amy, after a short rethink. ‘She won’t let herself get too cold, don’t worry.’ Her selfish sister was centre stage again, even when absent from the scene. ‘I shall make some tea, then we can work out what is to be done.’

  Margot got up. ‘No, Amy, allow me. I need to do something to take my mind off . . . things.’ She left the room, a handkerchief dabbing at the last of her tears. For all her surface bravado, Margot was becoming upset by the thought of Rupert being dead, by the idea of her sister being involved in a killing.

  In the kitchen, Margot set a kettle on the range, then sat at the large deal table. It was her fault. She had allowed Rupert to take liberties, and now he was dead. Perhaps he had told Eliza what had happened, perhaps she had been cross with him. If Eliza had killed Rupert, she might have done it for her younger sister’s sake. Eliza had not known about the baby, though she might well have guessed the extent of the affair.

  The younger sister thought for a few moments. Eliza seemed cold and distant, but she might well have had deep feelings on this particular subject. ‘So now,’ whispered Margot, ‘if she dies out there in the cold, that will be my fault as well.’ She walked to the kitchen window and stared out at a thin layer of snow, at clouds high enough to allow the earth to freeze solid. Something had to be done straight away, without cups of tea and conversations.

  Very quietly, Margot took Elspeth’s coat, hat and shawl from a peg on the back door. She wrapped herself carefully, glad that the housekeeper’s girth warranted sufficient cloth to cover the bulges of a mother-to-be. Silently, Margot crept out into the night, her eyes widening in a search for light. She would find her sister even if she had to search until tomorrow.

  After five minutes, the empty kitchen was visited by Amy. She stopped dead by the table, eyes darting about, took in the absence of Elspeth s outer garments, the furious kettle on the range. ‘James?’ she cried.

  Immediately, he was by her side. ‘She was making tea, so where has she—?’

  ‘Look upstairs,’ commanded Amy.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Just do it, please.’

  When he had gone, Amy leaned heavily against a wall. What next? There were two of them out there now, one pregnant, the other a self-engrossed creature who would not have cared about Margot if the latter had been at death’s door. Amy could only guess at Margot’s feelings just now, because pregnancy made women different, or so she had been led to understand. So Margot was out looking for Eliza, who was possibly being stalked by the woman whose son she had been accused of murdering. Yes, Helen Smythe had been removed by her daughter, but she might have got away, was surely mad enough to run riot until she found Eliza. What a mess. Amy had to admit to herself that if s
he had to choose which sister to save, her vote would go to Margot. Panic bubbled in her throat. She took the kettle off the hob and placed it in the hearth.

  To add to the confusion, someone was hammering at the front door. Amy ran to open it, found Ida Hewitt and Sally Hayes, with Stephen Wilkinson in the background.

  Ida stalked into the house, straighter and stronger than she had been in years. ‘I see Mr Mulligan’s car’s here,’ she said, ‘so is Mona about?’

  Amy waved a hand in the direction of the parlour. ‘Just go in there, both of you. We have a rather difficult situation here.’ After making this understatement, Amy forgot all about Stephen Wilkinson and closed the front door.

  James rattled down the stairs two at a time. ‘No sign of anyone,’ he said.

  ‘Mr Mulligan?’ Sally crossed the hallway. ‘Where have you been? Your dinner’s all dry and Mary’s on her own because Mrs Kenny went to the funeral and—’

  ‘Not now, Sally,’ he said. ‘Go into the parlour and— How did you get here?’

  ‘Mr Wilkinson’s van,’ replied Sally. ‘He drove us up from Mrs Hewitt’s house – I went there to search for you.’

  ‘Very good of him, I’m sure,’ said James. He opened the front door and found Stephen Wilkinson standing on the step, cap in hand, plainly prepared to offer further help. ‘Thank you for waiting.’ James placed a hand on the good man’s arm. ‘Would you take Ida, Mona and Sally home, please?’

  ‘Certainly.’ The brother of Guardian Wilkinson cleared his throat. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  This man was trustworthy, had been cast in a mould so different from his male sibling’s.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Young Sally Hayes was talking about the woods, said that she and Diane Hewitt had seen a light among the trees. Little Joe says he saw it, too.’

  It appeared that Eliza had found the sense and the wherewithal to light a fire. But Margot was chief priority for the moment. ‘So there is a fire in the woods, Mr Wilkinson?’

  The visitor shook his head. ‘Well, if there is, I saw nowt on the way up here.’

  ‘A fire would have been visible from the lane,’ said James. ‘Especially at this time of year with no foliage to hide flames. Unless it has been put out, of course.’

  Stephen stepped into the house. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Mulligan, but there’s a chill wind blowing outside.’ He fiddled with his cap. ‘From what I heard, it wasn’t like a fire, just a small light, you understand.’

  ‘Not at all, don’t apologize. I’m sorry, we should not have left you standing there. A small light. Not a fire,’ James mused aloud.

  ‘Is there trouble on?’ asked Pendleton’s baker and post-office keeper. ‘You see, I’d offer more help, but I’ve a batch of small tins and oven-bottoms in and—’

  ‘Thanks,’ said James, ‘but there are enough of us, I think.’ He paused. Another man could be useful . . . No, let Stephen go off and see to his shop. ‘Er . . . if you see Eliza or Margot Burton-Massey on your travels, will you let me know?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Stephen got back into his van, waited for the women, wondered about Eliza, Margot and his baking. Mr Mulligan looked in a right state, whites of his eyes a bit bloodshot, hair even more out of order than usual. Ah, well, this wasn’t getting his bread rolls ready, was it?

  James closed the door, leaned his head against it for a second. Was Amy right? Was there hell on earth? He felt as if he hadn’t slept for three days, exhaustion dragging at his muscles, tension promising to give birth to a sizeable headache.

  In the parlour, Amy, Mona, Ida and Sally sat in grim silence. ‘I’ve told them,’ said Amy eventually, ‘that Margot and Eliza are both missing.’

  James sighed, pushed his hands deep into pockets. ‘Mr Wilkinson is outside – Mr Stephen Wilkinson, Ida. He will take Sally back to the Grange, you and Mona to Bramble Cottage.’

  ‘I’m going nowhere,’ declared Mona. ‘Looked after that girl all day I did, and I shall see the job through.’ She could stay awake, she could.

  ‘Go home, Mona,’ advised Amy.

  ‘But I—’

  ‘In the van, all three of you, this minute,’ ordered James, a distinct edge to his tone. ‘There is nothing you can do here. If necessary, I shall drive round and mobilize all farmers and land workers. Neither of you would be capable of joining a search party, so go home right now.’

  ‘There speaks a schoolteacher,’ mumbled Amy, as three docile lambs left the room.

  He stopped in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder at the frightened, brave young woman. ‘Never underestimate a teacher, Amy, for his is the hand that rules the world.’

  Diane urged Joe through the garden. ‘We can be back before she gets home.’ His legs were not as strong as they needed to be, but exercise was good for him. This would be exercise, walking from here to the woods. ‘Come on, stop messing about. It’s a mystery, this light, and I want to get to the bottom of it. Gran won’t be coming home for ages, I’m sure.’

  Joe, not convinced by his sister’s words, dragged his heels. ‘She’ll be back in a minute, she’s in the baker’s van. He’ll have to come back to his cakes and I bet he’ll fetch Gran home.’

  Diane tutted impatiently. There definitely had been a light in the woods: she had seen it, Joe had seen it, Sally had seen it. This was a great opportunity for adventure, a factor that had disappeared from Diane’s life when the stealing had stopped. She missed the sensation of living on the edge, that flow of life-blood through her veins when she had stood within a hair’s breadth of discovery. He was still dragging his feet.

  ‘Come on, Joe,’ she begged for the umpteenth time.

  Joe did not share his older sister’s addiction to adrenaline. ‘We’ll get in trouble,’ he moaned.

  ‘She’s at the farm,’ whispered Diane, dropping her voice in case a neighbour might hear. ‘You know what she’s like, Joe – she could talk the four legs off a horse. Once she gets with Miss Amy, it’ll be all mohair and three-ply. You know what Gran’s like when she starts on about knitting and crocheting. She could be up yonder till gone midnight.’

  ‘I’m scared,’ he replied truthfully.

  ‘So am I – that’s what makes it fun.’

  ‘Well, I don’t reckon it’s funny, our Diane.’

  She stopped walking. ‘Go back in, then. Get in bed, then put pillows in my bed, make it look as if I’m asleep.’

  Joe swallowed. He hated being in the house alone, had never been alone at night. ‘I can’t.’

  Diane emitted a long-drawn sigh of utter impatience. She loved her little brother, but he could be a right pain in the neck. ‘Then we can blame it all on me if Gran comes home before we do. Say I made you do it.’

  ‘All right.’ With extreme reluctance and on legs that were still not quite up to scratch, Joe followed his sister into a darkness that promised only to thicken once the trees began. He was terrified, while Diane, used to anticipation, was merely excited.

  ‘Diane?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It might be a bogeyman.’

  She clicked her tongue with all the expertise of her grandmother. ‘Don’t be so soft,’ she chided. ‘There’s no such thing as the bogeyman, Joe. And there never was.’

  He sniffed the air in the manner of an animal seeking prey. Emerging slowly from his trance, he rose, stretched, inhaled again. Although the wind shook branches nearby, he was alert to other movements, subtler shifts of space and air. Foxes? he wondered. Badgers, owls, bats? Or was humankind approaching?

  Peering into a sliver of broken mirror, he smoothed his hair, dragging strands across the balding central track, glueing the pieces in place with macassar. Peter Wilkinson did not notice the sickly smell of this application, as he had used it for years. Meditation had revived him. He sipped at a cup of dandelion and burdock, wiped his mouth, lowered the stove’s light, drew back the wicks of two lamps. Something told him that his time had come, that the moment of triumph was close
at hand.

  His heart lurched, but he commanded it to beat evenly, steadily. He must not make mistakes, as he might alter the course of existence for ever. This could just be his finest hour, the zenith of his life so far. Should he be proved wrong, should Margot not put in an appearance, there would be another chance tomorrow.

  A twig snapped. In spite of enormous self-control, he shuddered momentarily. It could be anyone, might even be the papist from Pendleton Grange. No, Margot walked in the woods; this was likely to be his lady, his destiny.

  He opened the door just a tiny crack, fastened an eye to the resulting small space. ‘Ah, it’s you.’ His tone was conversational. ‘You are the wrong one. Just a moment, please.’ Confused for a split second, he hesitated before picking up the necessary equipment. He knew exactly what had to be done.

  After pouring fluid on to a rag, he left the hut completely, took hold of his victim, held the cloth to mouth and nose. There would be no pain, no terror. With not the slightest compunction, Peter Wilkinson grabbed a stone and crashed it into the unconscious skull. He had made his decision, and no-one must get in the way.

  Ida and Mona entered the cottage, waved as Stephen Wilkinson parked his van across the lane. ‘Nice chap, that,’ said Mona. ‘Bit different from yon brother of his.’

  Ida eased off her coat, hung it behind the door. ‘Brrr, it’s cold out there. I’ll make a brew.’

  ‘Mr Mulligan had me watching the queer feller just before our Tilly died. We found that lass, you remember, that naked girl in my new house. Mr Mulligan reckons Peter Wilkinson were responsible.’ Mona eased herself into a fireside chair. ‘Where’s the kiddies gone, Ida?’

  ‘Bed,’ came the reply from the kitchen.

  ‘Best place,’ Mona said. ‘I’ll not be stopping up long meself. Even the marrow in me bones is aching.’

  They sat with their tea, each mulling over the day’s happenings; Margot’s confirmed pregnancy, Mrs Smythe’s hysterical outbursts, the disappearance of Eliza, then Margot. ‘Margot will have gone looking for that other one,’ said Mona. ‘And it’s been a long day for somebody what’s carrying a child. She were doing so well and all till Eliza decided to go for a wander.’