Angel With Two Faces (8 page)

It was the other woman who noticed her first. She jumped up from her chair, nearly knocking the pan over as she did so,
and turned quickly away from Josephine – but not quickly enough to hide her injuries. Her left eye was so badly swollen that she couldn’t open it, and a cut to her lip had covered her jaw and collar with blood. Startled, the Snipe looked up.

‘Miss Tey,’ she said, horrified, and Josephine realised it was the first time she had ever seen the cook at a disadvantage. ‘I didn’t see you there. Is there something I can get for you?’

Surely they weren’t going to pretend that nothing was wrong, Josephine thought. That was ridiculous. ‘Has there been an accident?’ she asked. ‘That cut looks like it might need stitches. Do you want me to call a doctor?’

‘No, please don’t.’ Panic-stricken, the stranger found her voice and took a couple of steps forward. She was about forty, Josephine guessed, although her fear might have made her appear older than she was. ‘I don’t need a doctor, really I don’t,’ she insisted, and there was a pleading, pathetic note in her voice which was dreadful to hear. She tried to pull her long, mousy hair forward over her face, as if covering up her bruised and battered features would convince them that she was not really hurt. ‘Just let me sit here for a moment and I’ll be fine.’

Her face betrayed her words, but Mrs Snipe was quick to regain her composure. She led the woman back to her chair and handed her the soaked cloth for her eye. ‘It’s all right, my love, we’ll get you sorted just fine on our own. Stay here while I have a word with Miss Tey outside.’

Josephine found herself ushered back to the kitchen, still holding the increasingly absurd bottle of sherry. She put it down on Sheila’s freshly scrubbed table. The girl had now left for the evening, and the room was calm and peaceful.

‘I know you mean well but I can handle this,’ Mrs Snipe said firmly. ‘Getting a doctor in would only complicate things.’

‘But that woman’s obviously been badly beaten, and somebody needs to do something about it. Who is she, anyway?’

‘Beth Jacks, the gamekeeper’s wife.’

‘Then shouldn’t someone fetch her husband and let him know what’s happened?’ Josephine’s naivety was reflected back at her in the look on Mrs Snipe’s face. ‘You mean
he
did it to her?’ she asked, shocked. ‘Then you can’t possibly keep it quiet – it’s assault and she needs to be protected from him. I’m going to fetch Archie – he can tell whoever’s in charge down here.’

She turned to leave, but Mrs Snipe caught her arm. ‘Down here, no one’s in charge of what goes on behind closed doors between a man and his wife – just like anywhere else in the country. What do you think will happen if you get the police in? At best, someone will go round to have a word with Jacks and be palmed off with a load of lies and men’s talk, and the minute he’s gone, Jacks will knock Beth from here to next week, probably half kill her, and everything’ll go back to normal.’

‘What about William, then? He wouldn’t allow this to go on if he knew. Can’t he sort it out without the police?’

‘Oh, he’d certainly try. First whiff of any violence and Mr Motley would have Jacks off this estate faster than he could skin a rabbit. The trouble is, Jacks would force her to go with him, so she’d be destitute as well as beaten. Look, don’t think I don’t agree with you,’ she said, more softly this time. ‘I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to pick up a knife and sort him out myself for her, but it wouldn’t do no good. I’ve seen it before with another woman from the village, and it only gets worse if you fight back. At least here she’s got friends to keep an eye on her.’

‘But you’re not here most of the time.’ Josephine sat down at the kitchen table, still unsure of what to do for the best. ‘What happens then?’

‘She’s always got Morveth,’ Mrs Snipe said. Josephine recognised the name of the woman whom Archie and William had spoken so highly of, but she couldn’t help feeling that it would take more than a bit of white magic to sort this one out. ‘Beth went there first tonight, but Morveth was out for some reason, so she came here instead. There’s a few of us she can turn to. Please don’t say anything, Miss Tey – not even to the girls or Mr Archie. You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.’

The words echoed those that Archie had repeated to her earlier when he was talking about Morveth and the funeral, and reluctantly she acknowledged defeat. She
was
an outsider here, although it was more the logic of Mrs Snipe’s reasoning that convinced her to keep quiet, at least for tonight.

‘This is for you,’ she said, pushing the bottle across the table. ‘You may want to share it, though.’

The night air was anything but springlike by the time Archie walked Josephine back to the Lodge, but the beauty of the moon over the lake more than made up for the chill that partnered the clear skies. They paused at the end of the drive, transfixed by the silver light playing on the water, but – as magical as it was – Josephine’s mind was on other things.

‘Are you all right?’ Archie asked. ‘You’ve been a bit quiet since dinner.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘It’s just the journey catching up with me. It was a lovely evening, though, and William’s marvellous.’

‘He is, isn’t he? I knew you’d like him. In all the years…’

A gunshot rang out through the woods, muffling Archie’s words and startling Josephine. ‘What was that?’ she asked, looking anxiously towards the trees.

‘Don’t worry – it’s only the gamekeeper, and it sounds closer than it is. That’ll be one fox less after the pheasants – unless one of those gypsies William mentioned has run out of luck.’

He was joking, but the thought of Kestrel Jacks with a gun didn’t exactly reassure Josephine. Before she could ask him anything about the gamekeeper, she noticed a young woman coming towards them along the path from the direction of the Lodge. ‘Gets busy, doesn’t it?’ she said wryly to Archie.

‘That’s Morwenna,’ he said. ‘What on earth’s she doing wandering the woods at night?’

‘She’s probably just glad of the peace and quiet. From what you tell me, I imagine she’s had enough of company for one day.’

Certainly, Morwenna showed no inclination to engage for long. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your brother,’ Josephine said when Archie had introduced them. Morwenna shot an accusing glance at him and, realising her mistake, Josephine tried to rectify it. ‘William told me about the accident,’ she said quickly. ‘It must have been a terrible shock.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said dismissively, but seemed to soften towards Archie. ‘I’ve been looking for Loveday,’ she explained, glancing at him and ignoring Josephine completely. ‘She went for a walk after the wake. You haven’t seen her anywhere, have you?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. Have you tried Morveth’s?’

‘Not yet, but I’ll go there now. I just thought I’d drop in at the Lodge in case she’d gone to say hello to you. She likes to see you when you’re home.’ It might have been her imagination, but Josephine thought she detected a slight emphasis on the last
word. ‘We both do,’ Morwenna continued, and Josephine could only admire her for delivering such a loaded sentiment without a hint of coyness. She wondered if she should walk on and leave them to it, but Archie showed no sign of awkwardness.

‘I’m sorry we were interrupted earlier,’ he said, ‘but I’ll come and see you at the cottage. We can talk properly there.’

‘Thanks, Archie,’ she said, genuinely grateful. ‘I’ll see you then.’

‘All right – unless you need any help looking for Loveday?’

‘No – she’ll turn up. You know what she’s like – she runs wild everywhere at this time of year. I wouldn’t normally go out looking, but it’s been a long day and she’s over-excited, and the wake carried on at the Commercial Inn – God knows what state some of them are in by now.’

‘There’ll be a few wavering footsteps along the cliff path tonight, then.’

She smiled. ‘Exactly, so I don’t want her getting into any trouble.’

‘Look, are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. You’re probably right about her being with Morveth – and I’d rather be on my own for a bit.’

She was gone before Archie could argue. ‘Beautiful but difficult?’ Josephine guessed when they were out of earshot. ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to drop you in it, but there was no reason for her to assume you’d told me anything I shouldn’t know.’

‘It’s not your fault. She’s so on edge at the moment that anything you said would have been jumped on. And the difficult does tend to outweigh the beautiful.’

‘Even so, I imagine there’d be plenty of people willing to overlook that. Has she always been on her own?’

‘As far as I know. Her parents died when Loveday was still
very young, though, and she’s brought her sister up. A lot of men round here might be happy to overlook difficult, but being saddled with a child as well is very different.’

‘She obviously thinks a lot of you,’ Josephine said, but Archie looked uncomfortable and she didn’t press the point. When they arrived back at the Lodge, she led the way round to the back door, shining her torch ahead of them and fumbling for her key. Suddenly she let out a cry and dropped the torch. The beam of light went out as soon as it hit the ground, leaving them in complete darkness.

‘What is it?’ Archie asked anxiously.

‘There’s something on the doorstep,’ Josephine said. ‘I thought I saw blood.’

‘Stand back a minute.’ Archie fumbled around on the floor to find the torch, and shook it back into life. Placing himself between Josephine and the door, he shone the light on the step. ‘It’s all right,’ he said with relief. ‘I suppose you could call it a present.’ He held up a rabbit. ‘I don’t know if you’ve come across our cat yet, but she obviously wanted to welcome you with something.’

Josephine laughed, a little embarrassed to have made a fuss. ‘Is she black with white paws and very talkative?’

‘That’s her. She divides her attentions – and her appetite – impeccably between here and the house, so we call her Motley Penrose.’

‘Then we have met. She was sitting on the window sill when Ronnie dropped me off. She likes ham.’

‘If you’re on those terms already, this is probably a thank you. Don’t tell the Snipe, though – she accuses us of spoiling her, but she’s far worse than anyone else when she thinks no one’s looking.’

Dora Snipe had more on her mind at the moment, Josephine thought, as Archie disposed of the rabbit in the bushes. She wondered again if she should say something to him now, in spite of her promise. ‘Shall I open that whisky?’ she asked, putting the light on in the kitchen and going over to fill the kettle.

‘It’s tempting,’ he said, washing the blood from the step with a glass of water, ‘but not tonight. You need a good night’s sleep and I wouldn’t mind one myself. We’ll have a couple tomorrow to toast our victory at the cricket match.’

‘Are you that confident?’

‘Not really. To be honest, the Loe House team is a bit of a motley selection, in more ways than one – but then the estate can’t be any less united than it was today. Sleep well – I’ll see you in the morning.’

He kissed her goodnight and she watched from the door until the beam of light from his torch disappeared, vaguely aware of something she had meant to say to him but unable to put her finger on what it was. It was only later, as she lay in bed thinking about Kestrel Jacks and his wife, that she realised what had been hovering at the back of her mind: Loveday couldn’t possibly be at Morveth’s, because Morveth had not been at home. So where was she? She fell asleep, still trying to decide if she should telephone Archie or not.

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Loveday sat for a long time on the Bar, midway between the lake and the sea, waiting for the tide to turn and the waves to get smaller. Now, satisfied that the sea was at its lowest point, she crept into the church through the side entrance. The moon shone through the open door, throwing its magical light on to the painted screen that stood just inside the porch. Harry had told her once that it came from an old ship, a galleon which had been wrecked on the beach a long time ago. He had shown her where the ship sailed from on a map, but she couldn’t ever remember the name and he’d had to keep reminding her. The aged wood was covered with exotic painted figures – men with dark faces and funny eyes – and they looked even stranger now in the moonlight. He had said that there really were people like that in the world if you went far enough away, but she hadn’t believed him and so he had promised to take her travelling one day and show her. She closed the door behind her and the faces disappeared. She was glad they were gone. Without Harry there, they frightened her.

The church was quiet and dark inside, and she could barely hear the sound of the sea. It was a completely different place from earlier in the day, when so many people had come to see Harry. She walked up the middle aisle to the front and sat in the first pew, bowing her head solemnly. That was what you were supposed to do when you sat down in a church – she
knew that, because she had watched other people do it. It was how she had found Nathaniel earlier this evening, sitting quietly in the pew with his face hidden. Now, she waited for what she thought was the right length of time, thinking how old and peculiar the church smelt, then lifted her head. As her eyes got used to the darkness, she could just make out the familiar figure on the cross. He looked so sad, she always thought. She remembered how Nathaniel had explained it all to her one day – the man was sad because people in the world did bad things and because of that he’d had to die. That didn’t seem fair, but Nathaniel had said it was all right because he came back, stronger and better than before. Thanks to the man on the cross, he said, it was the same for everyone. People never died if there was someone left to care for them. Love brought them back.

She liked Nathaniel. He was kind and gentle, and talked to her about things which didn’t seem to interest other people. And he never seemed to mind how many questions she had, or tried to shut her up with silly answers. He had asked her that same day what made her sad, and she told him about the night her parents died in the fire.
They
hadn’t come back, she said, but Nathaniel explained that just because she couldn’t see them, it didn’t mean they weren’t there; they were still looking out for her, he said, and always would be. He’d asked what she remembered, and she told him. When she’d finished, she noticed that Nathaniel looked a little bit like the man on the cross, because he was crying. He asked her if she’d told anybody else the story and she explained that she hadn’t because no one ever wanted to talk about the fire in front of her, not even Morwenna. But she liked the idea of her parents looking over her shoulder. Since then, she had hoped more
than ever to see them; she kept turning round suddenly to see if she could catch them out, but so far they had been too quick for her.

As she got up from the pew, she heard a noise from the door at the back of the church. Not wanting to be caught, she hurried to the side wall where some tiny steps led up to a rood loft, barely big enough for her to squeeze into. It was just like the hide-and-seek games she played with Harry. Excited, she tried not to laugh or do anything to give herself away. She peeked out through the gap in the stone, putting her face close enough to the opening to make out a large figure coming down the aisle. It must be the vicar – no one else she knew was that round and stout – and she was horrified to see that he was heading straight for her. If he found her here at night, she’d be in terrible trouble. She held her breath, but at the last minute the vicar turned right into the small room at the side which he and Nathaniel sometimes used to get changed in, and where she knew they kept the valuable things. He stayed in there for several minutes, and she heard the chink of coins against metal. Then he muttered something – something which sounded like a word Morwenna often used and always scolded Loveday for repeating – and left the church as quickly as he had entered it.

All was silent again. Loveday waited a few seconds, then left her hiding place and went over to the north chapel to set about her task. In the darkness, she didn’t see the bucket by the altar and walked straight into it. Water spilt on to the floor, and she did her best to mop it up with the sleeve of her jumper, but it was the noise that worried her. She paused again to make sure that the vicar wasn’t on his way back in, then took one of the candles from the altar and lit it with the matches she’d
brought. Just in case it let her down, she lit a second candle and left it burning in its pillar to guide her back to safety. Now that she could see properly, it was easy to find what she was looking for – a wooden trapdoor, just to the right of the altar table, with a metal hook in one corner. The door covered some steps down to a passage under the church. Harry had shown it to her, but warned her not to come here without him because it might be dangerous: it led to a sort of cellar under the bell tower, and then down again to the sea. Sometimes – at high tide – the water filled the lower part of the passage completely. The first time he brought her here, they had stood in the cellar and listened as the sea crept gradually towards them. She had said it sounded like the hiss of snakes and Harry had laughed, but not unkindly – Harry was never unkind.

After that, she had pestered him to bring her here as often as possible and he had agreed – on the condition that she promised never to come alone, and that they never went further down. No one else seemed to know that you could get right to the sea – Harry said that people used the passage regularly in the olden days, had even lived in the cave which it led to – but nobody bothered with it now. She loved the idea of sharing something so exciting with her brother. One day, she announced proudly to Morwenna that she and Harry had a secret, but Morwenna had been furious; she had tried everything to make Loveday tell her what it was, had even started following her for a while to see what she and Harry were doing, but Loveday knew every hiding place there was on the estate and her sister could never keep up with her. After that, though, she hadn’t boasted to anyone else, not even Christopher – and anyway, she and Christopher had a secret of their own.

As she set out down the passage, she felt a little guilty about breaking her promise to Harry. Still, she would only go as far as the room under the bell tower and she wouldn’t stay long – just long enough to leave the parcel of food that Mrs Snipe had let her take from the pantry. After her conversation with Nathaniel, Loveday had thought long and hard about where Harry would go first when he came back, and this seemed to her to be the obvious place. The tunnel widened out into a small room, about ten feet wide in each direction; she held up her candle, hardly daring to look, but was disappointed to see that the space was empty. In her heart, she had hoped that Harry might be here already, smiling at her and holding up his hands the way he always did when she found him out in a game of hide and seek. The candle sputtered for a second and some wax dripped down on to her hand, burning her fingers and forcing her to let go of the precious light. The flame went out and, as she stood there in the darkness, peeling the hardened wax from her skin, she had a sudden moment of doubt. What if Nathaniel was wrong? When she’d told Christopher that love brought people back, he’d told her not to be silly – that wasn’t how it happened and Harry would never come back. She’d stood her ground and Christopher had apologised for calling her silly, but now, all alone, she was less sure. After all, Christopher worked with the dead and surely knew more about them than Nathaniel – perhaps he was right after all? The idea of Harry being gone for ever was too much to bear, and she shook it off obstinately. All she had to do, she thought, remembering Nathaniel’s words, was to have faith and she would be sure to see her brother again one day. She must be brave, and keep looking.

The candle had not rolled far and she didn’t have to grope
around on the floor for long to find it. She picked it up gratefully, then felt her way back along the passage and climbed the stone steps to the church, where the second flame was still burning brightly on its pillar. As soon as the trapdoor was closed, she relit the candle she had dropped, blew the other one carefully out, and made her way down the aisle and back to the entrance. She left the church, shutting the door softly behind her, and followed the path round to the graveyard. The path was sunk quite low into the ground, and the gravestones stood up tall on either side like soldiers. When she got to the place where Harry had gone, she looked sadly down at the mound of earth. All her work had been covered up, and the flowers that lay on top of the soil were nowhere near as pretty as the ones she had picked for her brother. She wished he could have seen how nice the bluebells looked, but she would make sure to tell him. For now, she would leave him her candle. She placed it, still alight, next to the flowers and was pleased to see that the grave looked instantly more cheerful.

It was time to go home. She’d been out too long, and Morwenna would be looking for her. She turned and headed towards the cliff path, noticing suddenly how cold it was and deciding to take the shortest route through the woods to the cottage. When she reached the edge of the trees, she turned back for one last look at Harry’s grave, and was astonished to see Christopher standing on the spot she had just left, staring down at the candle which the breeze had already blown out. He had his back to her, but there was no mistaking his silhouette, clearly outlined in the moonlight. What was he doing, she wondered? As she watched, he turned and walked back behind the church, following the path which would bring him round to the lych gate. She retraced her steps to meet him, pleased
that they could walk back together but, when she got to the gate, there was no sign of him. She waited a couple of minutes, then went further into the churchyard to look for him, peering behind the gravestones, even trying the church itself, but Christopher was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, and annoyed with him for giving her the slip, Loveday set off for home.

It was already long after midnight when Morwenna began to clear away the mess left behind in her cottage after the wake. She had refused all offers of help: the women meant well, but she just wanted everybody out of her house and out of her head, no matter how many hours it took her to wash the endless dirty cups and get rid of the smell of stale drink which hung around the downstairs rooms. Sighing heavily, she began to gather together the empty bottles and leftover food; her weariness made things look worse than they were, she was sure, but it felt as though the rituals associated with Harry’s death – even down to the chaos left behind by his friends – would never end.

Certainly, there was plenty here for her to do while she waited up for Loveday. In the end, she had given up trying to find her sister: she might be anywhere on the estate, and she would no doubt come home when she was ready. Taking responsibility for raising a young child had not come easily to Morwenna and even now, after eight years, the protectiveness and sense of duty which she thought she ought to feel still eluded her. It was hard to be a second-hand parent. Unlike her mother, Morwenna hadn’t planned Loveday or longed for her, and it was hardly surprising that she felt no maternal instincts towards her whatsoever – the emotions which came with motherhood could not be handed down through the family
like old jewellery or precious bits of furniture. It had been easier when there were two of them – at least in the early days, before Harry became someone she did not recognise – and she missed her brother’s reassurance, his strength. She had no idea how she would cope financially without him, and she would rather die than go to the Union again, but she had Loveday to consider as well as herself. Things might have been different if she’d only been braver when she had had the chance to make changes: people often told her that there were opportunities outside the estate for someone as bright as she was, but she had clung to the life she knew, terrified of trying anything unfamiliar on her own. Looking back, though, she knew that nothing could have been as unfamiliar as this grief – this vast landscape of sorrow, emptiness and guilt, in which there were no signposts, and no rules on how to behave. If she weren’t so numb, she might be amused by the irony of it all: the first thing she had ever had to do without Harry was mourn him.

Overcome now by weariness, she abandoned the cleaning to the morning and sat down at the kitchen table, thinking back over the events of the day. She was surprised at how pleased she had been to see Archie, although she half regretted talking to him so openly. Still, at least it had stopped her from going too far with Nathaniel: the violence that she had felt well up inside as she watched him in the pulpit had frightened her, and it was only now that she began to analyse why his eulogy had made her feel the way she did. She was concerned about the curate’s influence on Loveday – that much was true, but there was more to it than that. Put simply, she was jealous of his faith: Harry’s death had made her crave the certainty of which she had been so scornful, the certainty which Nathaniel carried with him every day, and she did not want to be teased
by the hope of immortality and reunion if she could not believe it in her heart.

And anyway, was that really what she wanted? To see Harry in another life when she could never forgive him for what he had done to her in this one? How could he treat her like that, then leave her to pick up the pieces? That wasn’t reassurance and strength; it was cowardice – despicable cowardice – and the injustice of it was that she was the one left to atone for it as best she could in the blank, meaningless days that lay ahead, when Harry’s death would continue to hang over her like a silent, angry accusation.