Read The Dead of Winter Online

Authors: Jane A Adams

Tags: #Fiction, #Retired Women, #McGregor; Sebastian (Fictitious Character), #Martin; Rina (Fictitious Character), #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths

The Dead of Winter (15 page)

BOOK: The Dead of Winter
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Back in her room, she locked the door and took a clothes brush to her dressing gown and slippers, and then smoothed out and brushed off the newspaper she had found. The bedside clock told her that it was just after five.
Rina decided she'd had enough for one night. She really needed to snatch at least a couple of hours sleep. Her days of being able to work and then party and then sleep through the morning were long past. She switched out the light and crossed to the window, peering out at the snowy landscape. The snow had almost stopped falling, but the sky still hung heavy with the promise of more and it was clearly thick on the ground. She hoped Mac would be able to make it to them in the morning. No,
this
morning, she corrected herself. She was about to let the curtain fall back when something caught her eye. A line of footprints not yet buried by falling snow started from some point close to the house and hidden from her view, but led out across the lawn and towards the line of trees beyond.
THIRTEEN
Aikensthorpe, 1872:
D
r Pym had left the house that night with something like despair in his heart. He had never seen Albert so angry, and nothing Pym had been able to say had assuaged that rage.
At the crux of it, Pym realized, was not that Elizabeth had sought to deceive them, or even that she had accused Spinelli – a man Pym had been certain was innocent until this night. It was that Elizabeth had not only acted in opposition to Albert's wishes, but had also done so in such a public manner.
Had she spoken to Albert about her suspicions, or, better still, confided in him earlier, then Pym was certain he could have convinced Albert to look at the matter again. He just had to hope that a new day might bring clarity and calm, and he had promised Elizabeth that he would return the following day to speak to them both once more.
He knew that Albert had other ideas though. That Pym had seemed to take Elizabeth's side had incensed him, and angry words had passed between the old friends that Pym knew would take more than a good night's sleep to forgive and forget.
‘
She says that George Weston convinced her to do this,' Pym had said. He had realized immediately that this was a big mistake.
‘
George would do no such thing. This is a female foolishness, hysteria. Jealousy.
'
‘
Your wife is jealous of what, Albert?' Pym tried to sound reasonable. He being one of only a handful of people who knew the truth about George Weston, he knew that Albert was oddly protective of this illegitimate son of his. ‘Your wife knows nothing of that unfortunate liaison. You were young. Foolish, perhaps. But you have always done right by the child.
'
‘
And you have always disapproved of my bringing him here.
'
‘
Not exactly disapproved, no. I admit I thought it unwise.
'
‘
Unwise.' Albert's tone was cold.
Pym had sought to justify his view, and the argument had turned nasty. Pym did not want to think of it. Instead of remaining for the night, he had called for his horse and chosen to leave before his host demanded it of him. Pym's only regret now was that he had passed no words of comfort to the poor young woman sitting on the stairs. Her eyes as she watched him leave seemed to follow him still, even as he rode from the house and towards the wood.
He would give Albert a few days to cool his temper and then return. They had been friends since boyhood; surely a little female foolishness could not come between them so irreparably.
‘
She has brought scandal upon my house,' Albert had said. ‘Do you think those who were here tonight will remain silent? My name will become the object of ridicule, and you may be certain that scoundrel Spinelli will use all of this to his advantage. He could sue for slander and claim with justification he had a lawyer witness it.
'
Poor Elizabeth, Pym thought. Young and foolish and so eager to do right that she had followed terrible advice and then been betrayed by the very man who had given it. Pym was in no doubt that George Weston had set this whole cascade in motion. Pym made up his mind that he would prove that. Weston would be made to pay.
He had entered the woods at the edge of the estate. Not an easy route, but the most direct to his home and one he had travelled many times. He had instructed the servants to go to bed, telling them he would not be home that night. Tom would have to be woken; the boot boy and general factotum slept on the floor by the kitchen, so Pym could be sure of rousing him; Pym's housekeeper slept far too soundly to be woken by his knocking on the front door.
The horse shied as a shadow moved on the track up ahead.
Pym reined in the horse and soothed it, stroking the animal's neck. ‘Who the devil's there? Oh, it's you.' With certainty, the devil, he thought.
George Weston stepped on to the path in front of him.
‘
Get out of my way,' Pym said.
George Weston struck out at him with the pommel of a silver topped cane. Pym fell to the ground and did not move again.
Sleep had come briefly, but by seven thirty Rina was up and dressed and back in the small room where the seance had been held.
She tapped the panelling, tipped the table, rapped on the floorboards and opened all of the stiff shutters and let the light flood in, cold and crisp and very white. Soft flakes of snow drifted down, and the footprints she had observed from her window a few hours before had now been obliterated.
Rina sighed, suddenly concerned for Joy and also for Bridie when she learned of all these goings-on. ‘Patrick, dear,' Rina said softly, addressing Joy's dead brother, ‘sometimes the dead really should keep their distance and let the living get on with what they have to do. Don't you worry, Joy is well loved and she is happy and we all plan to make sure she stays that way.'
‘Talking to the dead, Miss Martin?'
She hadn't heard Rav come into the library and was momentarily embarrassed to see him standing in the doorway, a slightly amused expression on his angular face.
‘Yes,' she told him firmly. ‘I don't happen to believe you need all of this malarkey.'
He smiled at her. ‘I tend to agree.'
‘I didn't think you held with the spiritual.'
‘Oh, I've no argument with the spiritual – or, at least, no argument with people's personal needs and beliefs. I tend to think that's their own business, and besides, I agree with our young friend Robin, it may well be the vocabulary that needs to change. We still need to have the discussion, but perhaps use less emotive language if we can ever hope to reach a proper conclusion.'
‘And have you experienced the spiritual for yourself?' Rina asked playfully.
Rav laughed. ‘Rina, I grew up with the unlikely parental combination of an Asian Hindu mother and a Welsh Christadelphian father and we lived in a small town ten miles from Cardiff. They made it work by celebrating everything. We spent Diwali with her family in Cardiff and Christmas with his and somehow it all turned out fine. Yes, as a child and a teen I had my “moments”, you might say, but for my parents, what might have been divisive turned out to be a bond. They both believed in
something
, and they loved one another, so they accepted the whole of the other person. I have to say, they taught me a very valuable lesson, not in tolerance, but in genuine respect.'
Rina smiled. ‘They sound like very exceptional people.'
‘Oh, in many ways they are, and what is more, they are still as much in love as ever – and that, I think, is precious.'
Rina nodded. She had to agree with that. ‘And when you ceased to believe?'
His smile was a little sad. ‘They accepted it because they love and accept me. I know they both pray that I will find a way to reconcile with belief of some kind but . . .' He shrugged. ‘My parents and their families learnt to accommodate one another, and so they acknowledge my right to find my own particular path as well. I suspect that when the habit of acceptance has been established, it is, thankfully, a hard one to break. But changing the subject wildly, what were you looking for? Didn't Tim and Jay already examine every speck of dust in here?'
‘Oh, I'm sure they did, but the trouble with experts is that they tend only to look for evidence of other experts. They sometimes miss what is right under their noses because it doesn't seem clever enough to be relevant.'
Rav was amused. ‘A nice observation,' he said. ‘And correct, of course. Spiritualists look for the spiritual, scientists for what they see as scientific, psychologists hope to unearth some childhood trauma, and engineers probe for clever devices. Cynics like me, of course, we always just hope to prove someone tried to dupe us.'
‘Are you really such a cynic?' Rina asked him.
‘Most of the time, yes. Though I am always open to the possibility that life can surprise me. Did you find anything?'
‘No,' Rina said. Frowning, she glanced accusingly around the room once more, then looked at her watch. ‘Breakfast time, I think, and my friends should be arriving soon, if they can make it through that lot.' She gestured irritably at the snow outside. It had finally ceased to fall, but the sky was filled with more.
‘Are you still planning on leaving today?'
‘I think so, yes. A lot depends on the condition of the roads. We're a bit cut off from civilization here, so we'll make a decision when Mac has arrived. If it's fairly clear, I think we'll go before the next blizzard. You?'
Rav nodded. ‘I think so, but I want to have a long talk with Edwin first. I'd hate to think of us parting on bad terms.'
‘He's a nice old man.'
‘He is, but of late I've been concerned that he's, well, being less rigorous in his experiments than he once was. There is such a pressure for results in every field these days. Frankly, Rina, I wish he would just finally retire, go and write his memoirs or something and do the occasional lecture. He's always been a man of great integrity.'
Rina looked keenly at the younger man. The dark brown eyes were troubled. ‘Sometimes,' she said, ‘people get carried away by the desire to demonstrate what they
believe
to be the truth that they can forget truth actually has to be there.'
Rav nodded. ‘I don't usually agree with Edwin,' he said. ‘In fact, on most scores we are diametrically opposed, but I do like and respect him. In both our fields there are those who, as you say, get carried away by their own desire to prove their points. There are scientists and mathematicians using the same faith based language as religious zealots. Not that they realize it, of course. Our friend Robin is right about use of emotive language; the wrong vocabulary, if you will. I've always tried very hard to avoid extremism in any form, and it bothers me a great deal that, at the end of his life, Edwin should have allowed himself to be drawn into that deep water.'
In the dining room it was evident that they were diminished in numbers. Gail and Dr Franklin had left very early, Melissa told them. They had left her a note in the kitchen saying that Gail wanted to try and get home.
‘They'll be back,' Melissa prophesied. ‘The coaches won't be though. The organizers called me to confirm that conditions are too bad – like I didn't know that already! One of the buses skidded off the road last night and had to be rescued.'
‘Anyone hurt?' Rav asked anxiously.
‘Apparently not. They were crawling along, fortunately. Blasted weather.'
‘That's Britain for you,' Rina said cheerfully. ‘Is Jay still here? He said he might leave today too.'
‘Gone off walking as soon as it was light. He seems to like this weather. I made sure his mobile had a strong signal before I let him out,' she added, and Rina wondered if she'd locked the front door until Jay had demonstrated that fact. She glanced out of the window, gratified that although the snow had started to fall once more, it was only falling lightly. In her younger days she, too, would have been out in it first thing, stamping around in stout wellingtons and taking pleasure in being the first to mark the pristine surface.
Except, she thought, recalling last night and the footprints she had seen, she would not have been the first. She stared hard at the snow that lay thickly, obscuring the lawn and the gravel paths, drifting almost to window height, but could see nothing now. How deep was it? Nine inches, maybe more. Deep enough to be challenging, but not so deep she would not have enjoyed it.
When was the last time she had waded through deep snow? They rarely got a lot in Frantham; it was too close to the sea, and the hills rising behind usually took the brunt of it, leaving her hometown with just a light sprinkle, whichever direction the wind blew in from.
‘Morning, Rina.' Tim and Joy arrived, Tim kissing her cheek and Joy giving her a hug.
‘Feeling better?' Rina asked Joy.
Joy nodded. ‘Much. I slept like a baby,' she said, wondering at that fact. ‘You?'
‘No, my mind was working overtime, I'm afraid.' They served themselves breakfast and sat down together at the table. Rav, it seemed, had little appetite and was drinking coffee, nibbling toast. Viv and Robin, at the far end of the table, were chatting over plates piled high. They acknowledged Rina and the others, but did not break off from their conversation. Viv giggled at something Robin said, and Rina smiled fondly in their direction.
‘They're a nice couple,' Joy said sotto voce. ‘Viv is
so
mad at Toby. You should have heard them last night when they came up. I'd just dozed off. She was giving him hell over something.'
BOOK: The Dead of Winter
4.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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